


A Glimpse of Sunlight

by Nostalgia-in-Starlight (UniverseEndingParadox)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Steve, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Orphan Steve, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance, Slow Build, Steve Rogers-centric, Stucky Big Bang 2016, Teenagers, bucky being awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 47,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7911391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseEndingParadox/pseuds/Nostalgia-in-Starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orphaned from birth, Steve has spent his whole life moving from foster home to foster home, never finding a true friend or family as he watches everyone around him get adopted and find homes. No one wants him because he's too small, too weak. So he builds walls around his heart to protect himself from the loneliness and constant rejection. He has no one but himself. That is until one single mistake changes his life for good and despite having accepted his fate, he discovers what it means to have a family, to have friends. More importantly, what it means to love and be loved, to belong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The fic was inspired by Anne of Green Gables. The title is from the lyrics to In My Veins by Andrew Belle.
> 
> [Fanart](http://malgoem.tumblr.com/post/149694865560/details-tba) by [Malgoem](http://www.malgoem.tumblr.com)  
>  
> 
> This is my first time writing for this fandom so thank you for reading!

“Lights out, everyone!”

The sound of hurried footsteps echoes through the house as everyone returns to their rooms. Doors click shut behind muffled laughter and it isn’t long before the whole house settles into the night. Alone in his room, Steve coughs and rolls over in bed, the worn pillowcase familiar against his cheek. He ignores the sound of the house-parent checking to make sure everyone’s back in their rooms and closes his eyes with a sigh and shifts to get comfortable. But sleep hasn’t come easy for a long time.

Steve opens his eyes with a groan. The room is dark, but as always there’s just enough light for his reflection to be visible in the window. “Hey, Grant,” Steve says to the image of himself, voice scratchy from days of coughing. “We’re one day closer to being out of this place.”

The corner of his lips tips up in a tired smirk. He knows it’s not exactly normal to talk to one’s own reflection, but it’s been a really long time since he’s felt ridiculous for doing so. At the end of the day, talking out loud to his reflection is really no different than having an internal monologue...and he really doesn’t have anyone else to talk to. Having lived in more short-term foster homes than he cares to count and spending the last couple years in this foster-share home, making friends hasn’t been easy. Friendships don’t last when you or everyone around you are constantly being moved around. After the last true friend he had had been adopted, Steve had closed himself off to others. It hurts too much to always be saying goodbye.

Sitting up, Steve peers closer at his reflection and heaves another sigh. The boy in the window has sad eyes and a pale face, a head of lackluster blond hair. He’s thinner than before and Steve can’t help but look down at himself. He doesn’t need to wonder why he hasn’t been adopted after all these years.

His own parents hadn’t wanted him. How can he expect strangers to want him? They come looking for a healthy, strong, handsome boy and always leave when they see him. Steve tries to not be too affected by the comments he overhears, but years of the same words being uttered behind barely closed doors _have_ affected him. Too skinny. Too small. Sickly. Frail, even. Those words have been muttered behind his back, murmured to agreeing ears, and whispered to the room too many times to count. Some of it’s bound to stick. Unfortunately, Steve also has a bit of a temper that tends to come out whenever those words are said to his face. So, yeah. He doesn’t have to guess to know why he’s the oldest kid in the share home and probably never going to be adopted at this point. In the beginning, it’d been hard to watch his potential adopters turn their backs. The first couple of times he’d been hurt and upset, then angry. These days, the sight of retreating backs no longer fazes him. Hardly anyone ever comes for him anyway.

“Just hang in there, Grant,” Steve says softly to his reflection. “Two more years and I’ll be eighteen. I’ll figure something out; make a living doing odd jobs and selling art…get a place. As long as I can find some semblance of permanence I’ll be happy.” He smiles wistfully at the thought, and the boy in the window smiles back.

~o~

There’s a knock on his door in the morning. Steve can hear the rest of the house just beginning to stir with the fresh sunlight creeping through the cracks in the blinds. He frowns at the door, not sure that he hadn’t just imagined the knock. It’s not like he gets visitors. Whoever it is knocks again, louder. “Steven?” Steve groans. Despite having lived in the house for five years, Mrs. Pewter still insists on calling him Steven. He slips out of bed and crosses to the door.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he says, stifling a cough. Mrs. Pewter looks him up and down with an appraising eye while Steve resists the urge to square his shoulders. He knows he doesn’t look well at the moment, but at least he’s well enough to get out of bed now.

“How are you feeling, Steven?” Mrs. Pewter asks, gentle. She’s grateful, he guesses, because the main reason he’d gotten sick was because she had asked him to help when a few of the younger kids were sick. Not that he’d really minded. He discovered early on that he was good at that sort of thing…probably because he’d been on the receiving end of care so much.

“Much better now,” Steve says truthfully.

Mrs. Pewter nods. “Good. Well, I’ve got good news for you, Steven. You’re getting adopted.”

For a long moment, Steve doesn’t comprehend what she’d said. The words register but don’t make sense. He stares at her, dumbfounded. She has to be joking. “Steven?”

Steve finds himself clinging to the door frame like a lifeline. “Are you serious?” he manages to ask around the sudden dryness in his throat. “Are you sure it’s me?”

Mrs. Pewter doesn’t quite hide the sympathetic look she gives him. “Why wouldn’t it be you?” she says in lieu of answering his questions. Any other day Steve would’ve narrowed his eyes at that. “The paperwork came through late last night from Mrs. Sarah Rogers. You’re taking an overnight train tonight.” She steps away from him to head back downstairs. Steve stares after her, speechless, and something in his expression makes her turn back with a sympathetic smile.

“Come on,” Mrs. Pewter says and reaches to put an arm around his shoulders, “come eat some breakfast first before you pack.” Steve takes one step with her but then stops. He shakes his head.

“No, don’t think I can stomach it right now,” he says. “I’ll just go pack.” Mrs. Pewter looks at him for a long moment before nodding. He watches her until she’s disappeared down the stairs before retreating back into his room and closing the door. Leaning back against the door, Steve takes a few deep breaths to loosen the tightness slowly wrapping around his chest. This isn’t the time to have an attack.

He’s getting adopted.

Once upon a time, back before he’d stopped hoping; those words were all that he ever wanted to hear.

~o~

Mrs. Pewter sees him off at the train station. Though he isn’t exactly attached to her, Steve is glad to have her there on the platform with him. A part of him is still trapped in the haze of disbelief. Her presence is at the very least enough to convince him that this isn’t some kind of fever-dream. When the train slows to a stop, Steve grips holds tight to his single piece of luggage and watches apprehensively as the doors glide open with a hiss.

“You have your ticket?” Mrs. Pewter asks as passengers file out of the train car. Steve nods wordlessly, the simultaneous mix of excitement, anxiety, and uncertainty making him speechless.

“Go on then.” Swallowing thickly, Steve nods again and drags suitcase with him to line up behind the passengers waiting to board.

He turns back to Mrs. Pewter at the doorway. “Thank you, Mrs. Pewter,” he says sincerely, and looks up into her eyes, hoping she can’t see the thick swirl of emotions clawing at the surface.

“You’ve shown me nothing but kindness these past few years and though it was never ideal, I think these past few years could’ve been a lot worse.” He holds out his hand for her to shake.

She smiles at him and gives his hand a firm shake. “Good luck out there, Steve.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Taking a deep breath, Steve squares his shoulders and climbs aboard the train, only looking back briefly to wave goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve can’t sleep. Though the rattle of the train is strangely soothing, Steve finds himself tossing and turning on the little cot that he’s been assigned for the journey. Before long, he slips out of bed, rummages in his backpack for his sketchpad, and goes in search of the sign for the observation deck he’d seen earlier. Most of the train is quiet. There’s a couple talking softly amongst themselves in the back of the car and Steve slips by them unnoticed. He finds the observation deck with ease and tiptoes up the tiny staircase, heaving a sigh of relief when he finds it empty.

It’s too dark to see out the glass dome ceiling, but Steve doesn’t mind. He tucks himself into a corner on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees. Grant is in the window and Steve smiles slightly at the familiarity. In the back of his mind he can only imagine how everything is going to change. He knows he can’t continue to talk to Grant like this once he gets to Mrs. Rogers’ home. If she sees him talking to his reflection she’ll probably run for the hills (and Steve wouldn’t blame her).

“What a day, huh?” he whispers to his reflection. “It’s been so long since I even entertained the idea of getting adopted. Didn’t think I would ever hear those words. And yet, here I am.” Steve tilts his head to lean against the glass and stares unseeingly at his reflection. There’s a thousand thoughts running through his head and his stomach is in knots. He’s excited, yes, but he can’t quite stop the doubt from gnawing at the back of his mind.

His breath fogs on the glass when he sighs. “What if it’s a mistake, Grant?” he asks his reflection. “What if I get there and it’s not me who she wants? I don’t even know what I’d do in that situation.” Grant doesn’t answer. The boy in the window frowns at him in concern, eyes troubled. For a long while, the only sound on the observation deck is the rattle of the train as it treks across miles of night.

“What if it’s not a mistake at all and someone does want me?” Steve wonders out loud, voice almost too quiet to hear, cheek pressed against the cool glass. “That’s just as terrifying.” What if he gets what he’s wanted all along – a home, a family, friends - only to have it all be taken away in the end? In his experience, good things don’t ever last.

Steve picks up the sketch pad he’d put aside and leafs through the pages. He lingers on the pages depicting sketches of different homes he’s imagined living in, faceless families gathered around cozy living rooms. There are drawings of families at the park, children playing in the streets, friends laughing together. “I want it so bad, Grant,” Steve says, eyes on the drawing he’d done of a mother hugging her child. He turns the page and trails his fingers over the image of two boys with their arms around each other’s back.

~o~

He must doze off at some point. The observation deck is awash with the orange glow of sunrise when Steve opens his eyes again. He blinks in confusion at the open sky above him and the clanking of metal wheels below. It only takes a second for everything that’s happened to flood back in, and he takes a deep breath before sitting up, groaning at all the aches in his body that weren’t there last night. Thankfully, the observation deck is still deserted. Levering himself to his feet, Steve presses himself close to the glass and peers out at the world passing by. The sunlight creeping across the plains is breathtaking and Steve rocks up onto his tiptoes in excitement when he sees the wide river weaving a golden ribbon through the windswept grass. Eyes shining, he can’t help but hope that wherever he’s going, this beautiful scenery is a sign of the good to come.

~o~

Sometime after the sun passes over the height of its trajectory across the sky, the train begins to slow. In all this time, Steve has only left the observation deck once to grab his stuff and a quick bite to eat before returning to plaster his face against the glass as if he’s seeing the world for the first time. A part of him wishes that he could stay like this forever.

Of course, wishes only come true occasionally.

~o~

“Next stop: Brookside.”

The announcement over the PA system is punctuated by the sound of brakes being applied to the already slowing train. Steve can’t see the station from where he’s at, but when the train comes to a halt, he feels the familiar whirl of excitement and anxiety gripping his chest. He hears the doors below hiss open, and for a few long seconds, he considers not getting off - just taking the train to wherever it’ll take him. Disappear. Away from everything thing he’s ever known. But that would mean giving up on the chance at getting everything he’s ever wanted. Maybe it’s scary to take the risk - chance finding a family without knowing if he’ll lose it all. Scarier, Steve thinks, than not risking it at all and just taking off to be on his own. There’s less certainty of heartbreak if the only thing he has to lose is himself.

The shrill whistle of the train breaks him out of his thoughts. Steve grabs for his bag without hesitation, the handle worn and familiar in his hand. He takes one last look at the world beyond the glass observation roof that he’s become so enamored by, and decides that he’d like to try and get to know that world. Afterall, Steve thinks as he rushes down the steps and out the door, he’s not one back down from a challenge.

~o~

Mrs. Rogers isn’t at the station. The only other passenger that got off the train at Brookside had long since been picked up. Steve’s the only one left at the little station. Him and the old station master sitting inside the booth. It’s not a big deal, Steve tells himself, trying not to feel disappointed just yet. Mrs. Rogers is just running late. She’ll be here.

He leaves his bag by the front door of the station and paces the length of the platform a couple of times. There’s not much to look at, but the station is seated in a beautiful clearing with large trees bordering one side of the tracks. The leaves have just begun to change and the greens, yellows, and reds are dusted aglow by the setting sun. He's not sure how far away the town is, but he can't see it from here.

When there’s still no sign of Mrs. Rogers after he’s walked the platform five times, Steve plops himself down on the bench by the entrance and pulls out his sketchbook and box of pencils. He flips through the pages before finding a blank sheet, ignoring the way his hands tremble as he skims his fingers over the page. Instead, he concentrates on gripping the pencil in his hand and putting the tip to the page. The sound of his pencil scratching across the paper fills the air, broken only by the bird calls reverberating through the trees at his back. As the images of the train and the station start to form on the page, Steve wills himself to not think about the possibility that he’d been right all along. That this is indeed all a big mistake, that no one wants him. He doesn’t even know what he’d do if no one came for him. There’s only so long he can wait here before he’d have to do something. His pencil continues to scratch across the page, but Steve isn’t really paying attention to what he’s drawing. He’s really just concentrating on not letting the tightness in his throat become everything.

Steve holds out until the last streaks of sunset fades into twilight. Shoving his sketchbook and pencils back into his bag, he hefts the luggage into his hand and stands up to go inside. Maybe he can get on the next train out of this place. And go...Well. He really doesn’t know. Now that he’s left the share-home, Steve doesn’t exactly want to go back (he knows he's still underage and technically can't live on his own yet). And honestly, even though he’s only been here for a couple of hours at the most, he’s already taken a liking to this place. Of all the places he could’ve ended up, this is so much better than he had ever imagined. A part of him can already imagine living in a place like this and leaving now when he’s so close to getting the chance to try finding what he's been looking for would be devastating. His hand falters on the door handle. Maybe he could just---

The sound of a car engine rumbling down the road is suddenly too loud in the quiet of the evening. Despite himself, Steve whirls around at the sound, heart beating too fast. He squints as the headlights round the corner and can’t quite contain the hope blooming in his chest. Gripping the handle of his bag, he walks slowly toward the roundabout as the car approaches. It feels like forever, but the car pulls up to the station and a woman steps out. The car door slams behind her; and Steve freezes on the last step. All this time, he’s never imagined what meeting his adopted parents - parent - will be like. Now that it’s really happening, he’s irrevocably, utterly, unprepared. He watches, heart in his throat, as the woman rounds the car and sees him. Steve stands up straighter on reflex while she looks him up and down.

“Steven?” the woman asks. She’s short, more or less his height, but the way she carries herself speaks of a strength and confidence that Steve can’t help but admire off the bat.

“Yes, ma’am.” he says and forces himself to step off the last step to greet her. “I prefer ‘Steve’.” He holds out his hand, hoping the churning worry in his stomach isn’t reflected on his face. It doesn’t help that Mrs. Rogers visibly hesitates before taking his hand and giving it a warm shake.

“It’s nice to meet you, Steve,” Mrs. Rogers says with a gentle smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Steve tenses, heart beating painfully fast in his thin chest. His mouth suddenly feels very dry and he swallows reflexively. Mrs. Rogers is still smiling at him, but he braces himself when she finally opens her mouth to speak. “Steve, I don’t know how to say this but…” she starts.

Steve cuts her off. “There’s been a mistake.” Better to hear his own voice say it than hers.

If Mrs. Rogers is taken aback by him cutting her off, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she holds his gaze and nods sympathetically. And just like that, the little tiny bit of hope that Steve had felt blossoming in his chest disappears. It feels like someone had just dumped cold water over him and everything’s now floating in some half real place. He’d been right after all. He feels himself nodding and wills himself to remain strong. He’s not angry, not really. This isn’t the first time that he’s felt the bitter sting of rejection. But, he thinks as he sets his bag on the ground in the only sign of defeat he’s willing to show, it’s been a really long day.

“It’s not your fault, Steve,” Mrs. Rogers says. “I’m going to call the adoption agency first thing in the morning and see why this happened. I asked for a boy young enough for me to properly raise.” She trails off in her explanation, probably realizing that she’s outwardly implying Steve isn’t any of those things. Too small. Too weak. Too old. Everything he’s heard before. “I’m sorry.”

“What do I do now?” Steve asks, and his voice sounds hoarse to his own ears but at least it’s steady. Though he’d been expecting this, there’s a part of him that can’t quite believe that it’s actually happening. His mind is working overtime to make sense of the situation but he can’t quite focus on a coherent thought. Really, he kind of wants to just sit down somewhere and not feel for a while, rewind time back to that observation deck and stay there until someone kicks him out.

His face must be betraying more than he wants to because Mrs. Rogers reaches out and gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure this out,” she says kindly, “I’m so sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” She’s genuinely sorry, he can see that.

“It’s okay,” Steve says on autopilot, “it’s not your fault, ma’am.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as dejected as he feels. The look that Mrs. Rogers gives him says he does.

“Call me Sarah, Steve,” Mrs. Rogers requests gently. She moves to put her hand on his back and nudge him toward the car. “Come on, the next train isn’t until tomorrow at the earliest and I’m not going to leave you out here. You can stay at my house tonight.” Steve forces himself to pick up his bag and get into the car. There’s not much else he _can_ do.

~o~

The drive back to Sarah’s house is long and steeped in silence. Steve’s still too shocked to think of much else but the random jumble of thoughts racing through his head, much less think about making conversation. He wouldn’t know what to say; and it seems like Sarah’s at just as much of a loss anyway. Or maybe she’s just trying to give him space. Whatever the case, Steve doesn’t exactly have much to say. Instead, he spends the time staring blindly past his reflection in the window into seemingly endless dark the headlights can’t chase. What a strangely horrible situation to be caught in.

Later, he lies awake in an unfamiliar bed with sheets that smell like what could have been his home, listening to the clock on the bedside table tick away each minute to a new day. He feels so drained. Here he had thought he’d get the chance to have a family, to experience the type of life he’d filled his sketchbooks with over the years. He’s so close. And yet, just as he’d been afraid of, everything is too good to be true.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve drags himself out of bed the next morning without enthusiasm, emotionally exhausted. Despite how tired he’d been last night, between his racing heart and the dozens of what ifs whirling around in his mind, he hadn’t gotten much sleep. At least, lack of sleep is something he’s fairly used to. It’s mainly the intensity of his conflicting emotions that’s getting the best of him.

He stumbles over to one of the window seats in the room and pulls open the blinds on the window to let in the sunlight. His breath catches at the view. This place is just as beautiful as the scenery he’d seen on the train, perhaps even more so. In the distance, purple-blue mountains loom on the horizon while ahead of him stretches miles upon miles of yellow green pastures. There’s a river running all the way from the mountains past the house. Giant trees speckled with orange and gold line the edges of the river, their leaves bathed in morning light. Steve peels himself away from the window after a few moments to open the blinds covering the other one. The view from the second window is just as spectacular. He can see what must be downtown Brookside not far down the hill from Sarah’s house. Beyond the town… _oh_ beyond the town is the shining water of what must be the ocean, stretching as far as the eye can see. He’s always wanted to see the ocean.

It must be some kind of cruel joke, Steve thinks absently, more entranced by the view than anything. Of course he gets sent to a town by the sea – the kind of place he’d fantasized about on his worst days – as a mistake. If only he had the chance to try making a life here. The view alone is enough to want to try. He’d do anything, do whatever Sarah expects, be the best child anyone could ask for. He’ll even open himself to people; let others in for the first time in so long. As long as he gets a chance.

Steve stays glued to the window for a long time. Eventually, he forces himself to pull away. Regardless of how much a part of him would like nothing more than hiding in this room for as long as possible, he knows it’d be better to just head downstairs and face the day. Sighing heavily, he slumps over to his bag and lifts. Though he hasn’t added anything to it, the bag feels heavier than it had yesterday. Resigned, he makes his way to the door and pulls it open, pausing to glance back at the room. Not even a day and he’s already reluctant to leave it. Shaking his head, Steve closes the door behind him. He knows he’s being melodramatic. This is the story of his life. What cannot be changed must be borne.

On the way downstairs, Steve takes the time to look briefly around the house. The artist in him revels in the clean lines and soothing décor. Everything appears to be neat and well kept, the whole house clean but not sterile, peaceful and welcoming. It feels exactly as Steve would expect from his first impression of Sarah. There aren’t many family photos from what he can see. The few visible on the walls are all of Sarah and a man who can only be her husband. Briefly, he wonders where the man is. He hadn’t heard anyone else in the house last night (not that he’d really been paying attention). Steve pauses before the frame series of wedding photos, eyes tracing over the two people in the pictures. He smiles despite his mood. The Sarah in the pictures is young and radiant with happiness and love, blond hair flowing in beautifully styled curls, brown eyes sparkling with emotion. The brown haired man with bright blue eyes next to her in every photo glows with the same joy. The love between them is so effortlessly obvious that Steve can’t help but feel warm. From the other pictures hanging on the walls, he can see that their love persisted long after their wedding day. He stares at the picture of them holding hands and smiling at the camera and wonders what it’d be like to be so in love with someone. He can’t imagine himself so devoted to any one person. With how his luck has been so far in life, it’d probably just end in more heartbreak. But, he thinks as he takes one last look at the pictures, he’s glad to see that love does exist for other people.

Sarah is on the phone when he finally makes it downstairs. Steve sets his bag on the floor by the door and peers uncertainly into what must be Sarah’s study. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do or where he’s welcome in the house. There’s a room with a large sliding door just off to the side near where he’s at. The door is slid open halfway and Steve – because he really doesn’t know what else to do other than stand by the front door awkwardly – decides to take a quick peek. He walks the few steps it takes to get to the wooden doorway and pokes his head through the doorway.

It’s a clinic, complete with a separate entrance door. There are two beds with their privacy curtains pulled back and shelves and cabinets full of a wide selection of medical supplies, all neatly arranged above and around a few larger pieces of equipment. A large industrial-grade refrigerator stands on the opposite side of the room. Of all the hospitals and clinics he’s been in in his life, this one is definitely the most welcoming. Genuinely impressed by the setup, Steve takes a step into the in home clinic out of sheer curiosity.

“Steve?” Sarah is suddenly right behind him and Steve jumps in surprise. He whirls around, coming face to face with her. It’s the first time that he’s really gotten a good look at the blond-haired woman. It’d been too dark the night before to make out much about her appearance. Though older and infinitely more weary, the woman before him is every bit the overjoyed bride he’d seen in the pictures upstairs. Her eyes are the same shade of warmth, though they’re not sparkling with the same intensity of emotion.

“Sarah!” Steve stammers, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just waiting for you and happened to look over here and –”. He shuts his mouth to keep from rambling, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

Sarah huffs a little and Steve glances up to see her looking at him in amusement. “It’s fine, Steve. Nothing wrong with looking around.”

“But it’s rude!” Steve can’t help but blurt. The tips of his ears feel hot, but Sarah chuckles at his outburst.

“It’s alright. Really.” Steve keeps his mouth shut this time and nods gratefully. “This is my clinic. I’m only a Nurse Practitioner but I’m the only healthcare professional in this town.”

“That’s really cool.” He means it.

Sarah smiles at that. “Come on, let’s have some breakfast.” She leads the way out of the clinic toward the kitchen. Steve follows at a sedate pace, knowing what’s probably coming next. “I just got off the phone with the adoption agency. They’re calling back later today so we’ve got some time,” Sarah says over her shoulder. Though her tone is casual, Steve’s heart speeds up in anticipation. He pauses at the entrance of the kitchen and watches as Sarah goes about pulling fruit out of the refrigerator.

“I’ll be honest, this whole thing is a bit of mess and they really weren’t all that helpful,” Sarah says. Steve feels his stomach drop and doesn’t even have to fight to keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t really trust himself to be able to speak right now. “They’ve already given away your spot in the share-home so you can’t just go back there. They’re working to see if another home or a foster family will take you.”

“So what do we do now?” Steve finds himself asking.

“Well,” Sarah says, indicating the array of fruits she’s cut and put into a bowl, “we start by having breakfast. There’s yogurt and granola if you want.” The kindness on her face is genuine, but Steve is having a hard time fully accepting it. It’d be kinder to let him stay. But that’s not fair to her and he knows it. It’s not her fault that he’s not who she wants or needs.

Still, he shakes his head a little. “I’m not very hungry.”  
Something in his voice gives him away once again. Sarah sets her breakfast back down on the counter and comes over to him. She puts both hands on his arms this time. “Steve, I’m really sorry –” Her words are cut off by someone pounding on the front door. Without a moment’s hesitation, both of them run toward the sound.

Whatever he’d been expecting at the door, it isn’t the sight of two young men drenched in blood, one of them barely standing with the aid of the other. Steve moves on instinct to support the man whose face is scrunched in a deep grimace, drained of color. On the other side, the dark skinned man gives him a brief glance of appreciation. He takes note of the way the man’s left leg is bent oddly out of shape and how most of the blood seems to be coming from the area. The man’s breath is coming in rapid wheezes and Steve winces inwardly in sympathy.

“What happened, Sam?” Sarah asks as she quickly leads them to the clinic that Steve had discovered earlier.

“The tractor flipped,” the dark skinned man – Sam – says, voice tight with strain as the three of them work to put the other man on one of the beds. The man moans loudly in pain and somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve thanks his less-than-lucky stars that he doesn’t drop the poor guy in surprise. He steps back a little when they get the man safely on the bed and watches in rapt attention, heart pounding, as Sarah takes the guy’s pulse while running her eyes over the man’s body.

“Riley?” she inquires, shaking the guy a little, “Riley do you know where you are?” The guy’s head lolls a little but he doesn’t give a response. Sarah’s face falls into an expression of deep concentration. She looks up briefly and Steve meets her gaze, nodding at the silent request for help.

“Steve, go to that cabinet and grab a bottle of saline and as many gauze pads as you can carry. Sam, I need you to cut him out of his pants, can you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait to see Sam’s reaction before rushing to the cabinet that Sarah had indicated. He finds the bottles of saline and gauze with relative ease and grabs as many as he’s able to before running back to Riley’s bedside. Sam had obviously made short work of Riley’s ruined pants and is now holding his friend’s hand in silent support. Steve takes in the sight without pause and promptly gawks at the exposed leg. Amidst the splattering of already apparent bruising and still oozing blood, Riley’s shin bones have penetrated through the skin. Steve blinks at the jagged edges of the white bones and swallows back the bile threatening to rise in his throat. He looks away to where Sarah is inserting a needle into Riley’s arm…and feels himself calm at how her every movement is steeped with quiet confidence.

“Sarah,” Steve says, moving to her side, “how can I help?” Sarah hands him a bag of IV fluids to hang and Steve does so wordlessly. Together, the two of them work together to stabilize and treat Riley. Though he’s never been on this side of medicine, he’s certainly seen enough in his own life to know at least the basics. Or, he trusts the confidence in Sarah’s voice to do exactly as she says. Whatever the case, Steve’s a little more than impressed by how well they work together. Judging by the approving look that Sarah gives him, she shares the same sentiment. He’s not particularly squeamish, having dealt with enough in his own life (he may have felt a little faint when Riley screamed in pain when Sarah set his leg but that’s for him to know and no one else). Steve loses himself in the mad rush of going from task to task and for a while it feels like this is exactly where he belongs. It feels like he _already_ belongs.

~o~

Afterwards, when Riley’s leg has been set and stabilized, they breathe a sigh of relief. He’ll have to go to the hospital to get the break fully fixed, but his life is no longer in danger. Sarah is immediately on the phone with someone, sounding professional and absolutely calm, as if they hadn’t just spent all that time fighting to make Riley okay. From what Steve gathers, there’s a guy whose van functions as the town’s ambulance service to the nearest community hospital a three hour drive away. It’s not at all what he’s used to, but that doesn’t really matter right now. He glances down at the young man on the bed. The guy can’t be more than a couple of years older than him. Riley’s eyes are closed and his face is still pale, but he’s resting. Steve pats the guy’s arm encouragingly before deciding that he’ll be fine until Sarah returns and walking over to where Sam is sitting in one of the chairs by the door.

“You okay?” he asks. Sam’s expression is still pinched in worry, but he looks up and smiles when Steve comes up to him.

“It’s him I’m more worried about,” Sam says. “I’ll be fine.” Steve sinks into the seat next to him with a small groan of effort. His legs suddenly feel like jelly, all the adrenaline from before draining from his muscles leaving him shaky. Unfortunately, thoughts of his current predicament flood in behind the adrenaline as if they’ve never been absent.

He forces himself to focus on Sam. “Sorry about your friend.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam says softly, “I wish I could’ve done something. I saw it happen, you know? Couldn’t do anything to help. It sucks when all you can do is watch.” The man’s eyes are trained on his friend, gaze far away, re-living the moment in his mind.

“I can’t even imagine,” Steve sympathizes, shaking his head. He sees the slump of defeat in Sam’s posture and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You got him here in time though.” For a few long seconds, he’s not sure Sam hears him. Then the guy turns to him with gratitude. He gauges Steve with an interested eye while Steve tries to sit up a little taller without looking like he’s doing it. Sam doesn’t make him uncomfortable thought. Actually, there’s something about him that puts Steve at ease. Given the chance, Steve thinks, they could probably be friends.  
He holds out his hand for Steve to shake and Steve takes it. “Sam Wilson. Thanks for all your help today, kid.”

“Glad I was here to help,” Steve says sincerely. “I’m Steve”

“Yea, I got that,” Sam teases, “Sarah sure liked your help better than mine.”

“If you can call fretting help,” Steve retorts with a small smirk.

Sam raises his eyebrows. “That’s how it’s gonna be huh? Sarah’s new kid sassing me on the first day.” He chuckles.

Steve grimaces a little at the title and opens his mouth to correct him, but he’s cut off by a knock at the clinic door. Sarah’s there to open it before anyone else gets the chance. It’s the man driving the ‘ambulance’. Together, the four of them get Riley into the van and situated. Though Sam looks like he wants to go with him, Riley’s family will be meeting him at the hospital so he joins them in wishing Riley good luck before the van drives off. When the van has disappeared down the road, Sam turns to Sarah and hugs her tightly while Steve watches from the side.

“Thank you so much, Sarah,” he hears Sam murmur, his voice steeped with gratitude. Steve likes this guy.

Sarah’s arms visibly tighten around the young man before she pulls away. “You’re welcome, Sam. It’s what I’m here for. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” Steve feels his eyebrow lift in surprise. Sam works for Sarah? Well, whatever the case, he agrees with her. Though he’s doing a fine job of hiding it, Sam is obviously shaken from the ordeal.

“I can finish –” Sam starts, but Sarah cuts him off.

“I insist,” Sarah says firmly, kindly. She glances at Steve with a look that Steve can’t quite decipher. He turns away a second later to survey their surroundings, heat rising in his cheeks out of nervousness. “Steve and I can handle it today.”

“Thank you.” Sam taps Steve’s shoulder to get his attention. “See you around, kid,” he says. Steve can only nod with what he hopes is more of a smile than a grimace. _If only._ They bid goodbye to Sam then turn to head back inside.

~o~

Left alone with Sarah, Steve can’t help but feel himself tense with awkwardness and uncertainty. Their earlier conversation had been cut short. Hours must have passed since breakfast, but the situation hasn’t changed. He still doesn’t belong here. He still has nowhere to go. The adoption agency hadn’t called back and they haven’t had the time to discuss what’s going to happen to him. As Steve steps in silently to help Sarah clean up to clinic, only speaking to ask where things went, he tries to work up the courage to bring up the subject. Maybe he should wait for Sarah to speak first. It’d be more polite that way, right? At some point he catches a glimpse of his bag by the door and feels anxiety shoot through him at the sight. In a strange way, this kind of apprehension always has a way of making him stupidly brave and he makes up his mind about talking to Sarah.

She beats him to it. “Steve,” Sarah says just as they’re bagging up the last of the gauze wrappings and Steve’s finished tucking the new sheets onto the bed. Steve looks up at her serious tone, forcing himself to meet her eyes, bracing for the worst. “I think I may have underestimated you.” Steve blinks. It’s…not what he’d been expecting.

“I judged you based on your appearance and assumed you to be…fragile,” she grimaces in embarrassment as Steve winces at the words. “But you’ve proven me wrong this morning. You’re stronger than you look.” She smiles and it’s Steve’s turn to be a little embarrassed.

“Thank you.” He’s not sure where this is going, but holds onto the warmth in Sarah’s eyes. She’s gauging carefully and Steve lets her look. This conversation is nothing at all what he’d been expecting, and inevitably, he’s beginning to feel something other than apprehension. Perhaps…perhaps…

No, he’s not going to blindly hope.

Instead, he watches as Sarah nods to herself, presumably finding what she’s looking for in him. She takes a breath. “You seem like a good kid, Steve,” she says, “Maybe this mixup doesn’t have to be a bad thing for either of us. You’re not who I had in mind when I filled out those papers, but maybe I should be more open minded.”

It takes a moment for her words to sink in. Steve feels his heart begin to race in his chest. He reaches out blindly to grip the guardrails on the bed, the cold metal barely registering on his skin. “Are you…are you saying…” he trails off, mouth too dry to form the question.

“I’m willing to give you a chance, Steve. Think of this as a trial period for both of us. If you’re willing, I could do with an extra pair of hands in the clinic from time to time and we can figure out the other stuff when we get to it. What do you say?”

Steve can’t believe his ears. Is she really offering him a chance to stay? How is this even possible? He’s trembling, his knees weak; and he holds onto the rails with all the strength he has. What does he say? This is everything he’s ever wanted. Just this chance to _belong_. A chance to have a family. It may not be anything like what he’d imagined, but this is the first time anyone’s been willing to give him even this much. And it may not be permanent, only a trial, but Steve thinks it could be enough. At least he’ll get to experience it.

There’s a number of responses swirling around in his head, but in the end, he opens his mouth and the only thing that comes out is, “yes”. Sarah grins at that and Steve shakes himself out of his stupor. She deserves more than the simple answer. In a moment of inspiration, he grabs her hand, looking into her eyes with as much feeling as he can muster.

“I can’t…I can’t even express how much this means to me, ma’am. I already love this place and you offering me a chance is more than anyone has ever done for me. I want nothing more than to find somewhere to belong and I’ll do anything you ask,” he pauses to catch his breath, mortified when he feels a distinctive burn in his eyes, but soldiers on. “Just…thank you.”

Sarah smiles at him in amusement and rubs his hand reassuringly before pulling away. “You’re very welcome, Steve. Now, when the adoption agency calls, I’ll tell them that I’m keep you for a while.” Steve’s stomach chooses that moment to growl and his eyes widen in horror. Sarah laughs and rubs her own stomach, while Steve grins tentatively, abashed. “I’m famished,” she says, “go put your luggage upstairs and come down for some lunch okay? I’m going to take the trash out and put the sheets in the laundry.”  
“Do you need help?”

“No, you go ahead. I’ve got this.” Steve nods and heads for the door back to the house. He pauses at the doorway and turns back to Sarah, needing to be certain of one more thing. She wrinkles her forehead at him in question.

“Um, I'm not sure if you know this, but I...I have some health issues. I have asthma and I get sick a lot. My immune system isn't always the best,” he looks down at the floor. He's always hated admitting weakness but she has a right to know. “I understand if this changes your mind.” His shoulders hunch in misery. There's a beat of silence where Steve thinks she's actually going to change her mind. But she surprises him again.

“Well,” she says, an amused smirk on her lips when he looks up at her, “it's a good thing I'm a nurse, huh?” Steve gapes a little in disbelief. How is she real? “Go on, kiddo. We'll figure it out in time. Food first.”

Steve leaves the clinic in a daze, feeling like he's in some sort of dream. He grabs his bag on the way up the stairs, pausing to look at the pictures on the wall again. “Thank you,” he whispers to the jubilant bride and wonders when he'd get to meet her husband. He must be a good man for having caught Sarah Rogers' eye.

Up in his (it might actually be his?!) room, Steve looks out of his window to the ocean and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. This could be it, this could be the life he'd been dreaming of. But until he knows for sure that he's here to stay for good, he's going to make sure he doesn't get too caught up in it. Just in case. It'll hurt less in the end this way.

~o~

Sarah spends the rest of the day showing Steve around the house and the farm. She tells him that Sam's been helping out on her farm since her husband isn't here and that Steve will be doing some of the chores such as milking the cows each day while Sam continues to do the bigger, more technical tasks. Though she doesn't elaborate on where her husband has gone, Steve hears something in her voice that makes him peer closely at her in concern. She doesn't meet his gaze but he can feel sadness radiating off her even as she's obviously suppressing it. He doesn't want to pry, though, so he doesn't ask. On top of his chores, he'll be helping out with her clinic and going with her on some house calls. It's not something that Steve's ever imagined himself doing, but he's actually excited to be doing it. Lord knows he's been on the other side of medicine all his life and he can kind of see himself as the caretaker for a change. He'd like to try, at least, because he wants to give to others what many have done for him when he'd been sick. He thinks it's the right thing to do.

At night, Steve helps with making dinner. Cooking is something else that he's never done before, but he finds himself enjoying it. Plus it's a good skill to have. Sarah is patient in teaching him how to use a knife properly and he soaks up her words eagerly. Now that the awkwardness of uncertainty has dissipated for the most part, Steve is rapidly taking to Sarah's company. She's gentle and kind and she's a comfortable presence in the room with him. His admiration of her is slowly turning into regard and it's too early to be having these thoughts but he thinks he can see her as family with time. He wonders if she thinks the same of him. They eat dinner while Sarah lays out some ground rules and expectations that Steve finds reasonable. He's surprised when she asks for his input and flounders for some things to contribute. After dinner, Sarah sits and reads while Steve shyly joins her with his sketchbook in companionable silence. By the time he's ready to head upstairs for bed, Steve is more hopeful than ever that this might all work out in the end.

“I'm heading to bed,” he says when he can't keep his eyes open anymore. “Goodnight, Sarah.”

She looks up from the book she's reading and smiles warmly. “Night, kiddo. Sleep well.”

He doesn't, despite his general good mood, but it's not anything he's not used to. It's only a problem if it actually becomes one.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day starts bright and early. Even if he hadn't gotten a lot of sleep the night before, Steve feels way less exhausted than he had the day before – most likely a direct result of not being nearly stressed about his predicament. Today already feels infinitely better and he'd only just awoke. He rolls out of bed and immediately opens the window blinds, basking in the sunlight and letting the view take his breath away once again. It's just as spectacular this time around and Steve thinks he can really get used to this. He allows himself a moment to grin like a fool before heading to the bathroom to shower.

Sarah is already downstairs when Steve makes it to the kitchen. “Morning,” he smiles, sitting down across from her at the table.

“Morning,” she says, nursing a mug of coffee while reading something from the laptop in front of her. She gestures to the table where she's set out fruit and some cereal. “Hope this is okay with you. I'm not sure what you like to eat but you can go out to the store later and buy some food if you want to.”

Steve shakes his head, he doesn't want to be any kind of burden for her. She's done enough as is. Her kindness already means so much. “It's okay. This is good.” He's so focused on choosing his fruits and pouring cereal for himself that he misses the considering look Sarah gives him.

“Steve,” she says, setting her coffee mug down and effectively getting his attention, “don't think of yourself as an inconvenience. Trial or not, you're part of this household now, not just a guest. My role as a parent-guardian means providing for you. You're allowed to want things for yourself and ask for things as any child would.” Steve stares at her for a few seconds before ducking his head, ears burning. It's barely been two days and she can already read him so well? Is it because he's that easy or is she just that good? Steve wants to think the former if only because the latter would be kind of unnerving.

“I...thank you...for saying that,” he finally utters, not knowing what else to say. “It's just. I've always been taught to appreciate what I'm given and not to be a burden.” Sarah frowns at that, obviously disagreeing with his statement. He waits as she searches for the right words.

“I'm not going to say what you've been taught is wrong,” she says gently, “but I don't believe that's the way to treat a child, regardless of whether the child has biological parents. The people who choose to open their homes or offer shelters to children in need have an obligation to the children to provide for them to the best of their ability, not treat them like they're burdens to be carried.”

When her words sink in, Steve is once again full of admiration for this woman. How can he even fathom leaving now? Who else is going to be as wise and formidable as Sarah Rogers is turning out to be? He nods to show that he understands. “I'll keep your words in mind”. She tilts her head in satisfaction, so he guesses this is the end to this conversation. He quickly finishes his breakfast and offers to do the dishes as Sarah completes whatever she's doing on her laptop.

A kitchen chair scrapes across the floor as he's rinsing off the last dish. “I've got a few house-visits today that I need to take care of,” Sarah says when Steve turns around. “I've left a key for you by the door. Since you don't have a phone yet, just leave a note if you're heading out after your chores.”

Steve nods in understanding. He really appreciates the trust that she's already showing him and hopes it shows on his face. “Sounds good. Have a good day.”

“You too, kiddo. Try not to get into any trouble, yeah?” She leaves to get her stuff ready as Steve finishes tidying up. Minutes later, the front door swings shut and for the first time in his life, he actually has a house to himself. It's a good feeling. With a grin, Steve heads out to do his chores.

~o~

Sam is in the barn with the cows when Steve gets to it. He smiles shyly in greeting, happy to see the young man again so soon. After ascertaining that Riley is still doing fine, Steve spends the morning learning to milk the cows and feed them while making small talk. Sam is easy to talk to and it isn't long before they develop an easy sense of camaraderie. According to Sam, Sarah had suggested that he take Steve around town after showing him the ropes on the farm. Steve agrees with enthusiasm. He's been wanting to see the beautiful little town up close. That and the ocean. He hesitates. Though Sarah had said that he's allowed to ask for things now, he's not sure if the same rule applies to Sam. For as long as he can remember, he's been taught to only ask for something more if it's absolutely necessary. Asking for things is just something he's not used to. But then...Sam seems like the perfect person to ask for his first try.  
“Can we see the ocean?” he asks Sam as they're finishing up the last of the chores. They're carrying a crate full of bottles of raw milk between them to the house where they'll be stored in another industrial-grade refrigerator in the garage. At Steve's question, Sam turns and regards him with a curious look.

Steve ducks his head and concentrates on not tripping, thinking Sam is going to laugh at him or make fun of him. “I...I've never seen the ocean before.”

The young man doesn't laugh or tease him.. “Seriously?” he asks in surprise. When Steve nods wistfully, Sam schools his features and gives him a reassuring smile. “Of course we can.” Steve smiles back in relief and gives himself a mental pat on the back.

Well. That hadn’t been so bad.

~o~

It's a fifteen minute walk into town. On the way, Sam points out the couple of neighbors that they pass. Most people on the outskirts of town have large swathes of land (mainly farms) so the number of houses are sparse and far between. His parents' house is on the way as well. When Steve asks whether he's lived here his whole life, Sam laughs a little, mirth shining in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, “people here always joke that no one is allowed to leave this town. Most people were born here and honestly most stay forever. It's a tight knit community because of this. Everyone pretty much knows everyone.”

Steve considers this. It's so, so different from what he's known. His whole life has been so transient. He can't begin to imagine what it must be like to stay in one place for his whole life, much less know practically everyone around him for such an extended amount of time. “Sounds nice,” he decides.

Sam quirks an eyebrow. “I haven't decided if it's a good thing yet. Think it might get boring to stay here my whole life, you know.” He looks around. They're walking along the river, tracing its path as it gets narrower closer to town. “It could be a lot worse though. I guess if I had to stay any one place for my whole life this is a good place to be.”

For a couple of seconds, Steve is silent. “It's funny,” he muses quietly, “all I've ever wanted was a place to stay. A place to call home.” He glances at Sam, gauging his reaction. He's not looking for pity or sympathy. The young man is displaying neither, merely curious. Though satisfied with that, Steve hesitates. He's not sure if he should be sharing too much so soon. But he blurts it out anyway. “Being here is like...it's simultaneously the best thing and the worst thing.”

“Why is that?” Sam asks cautiously when Steve doesn't know how to continue. He really needs to stop talking so he doesn't sound ungrateful. Nor does he want to accidentally say something bad about Sarah without meaning to. Lord knows she's doing more for him than he probably deserves.

Still. Sam is looking at him with such earnestness and genuine care in his eyes that Steve can't just leave it at that. The guy deserves at least some explanation. It's Steve's fault for blurting things out without thinking them through. “It's just,” he says slowly, trying to say what he wants to say without outright admitting that his being here is a mistake, “I'm afraid this - this place - is all too good to be true.” Steve cringes a little. There's so much more than that. _What if he's not welcomed here? What if they do and it all gets taken away in the end? What then?_ But it's the most concise way to say voice the myriad of conflicting thoughts on his mind without giving away too much.

Predictably, Sam frowns at his statement. Steve is stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder and the most serious expression he's seen on Sam's face this whole time. “Man, don't think like that,” Sam implores. “I don't know much about you or what you've been through, but believe me when I say that good things do happen.” Dark brown eyes bore into his and Steve searches them for deceit. He doesn't find any. It's good enough for now. He nods and Sam steps back, satisfied.

They come to a bridge just before they get into town. On the other side, Steve is astonished to see a mansion settled at the end of a long driveway complete with a small fountain, surrounded by perfectly landscaped lawns. The mansion itself is a thing of beautiful, elegant lines and polished stone. Something must show on his face because Sam laughs at him. “Stark Mansion,” he says by way of explanation while Steve tries not to gape. He's gonna have to come back with his sketchbook without looking like a creep. “This is one of the Starks' vacation homes. They come and go as they please. No one really knows what they do but they come back every fall to vacation. The best part is that they always throw giant parties for free when they're here. It's practically the only exciting thing that happens around here. Everyone's always looking forward to their annual themed-ball. They fly in supplies with their family helicopter. You'll have to see it to believe it.”

“Jeez,” is the only thing Steve can think to say. He thinks he might've gotten lost somewhere along the whole multiple-vacation-homes thing. It boggles his mind to think anyone could have multiple houses that look like this...not to mention the _family helicopter_. The Starks must be generous people to do something like that for the town.

Sam laughs again. “Yea, you get used to it,” he shrugs. “Come on, we're almost there.” He sets off down the road again.

Steve takes one more look at the giant house at the end of the equally giant driveway then follows.

~o~

Downtown Brookside is just as pleasant as Steve imagined from a distance. The streets are paved with warm brown cobblestones and the little buildings are worn but colorful and well kept, their shop windows wide and inviting. There's baskets of plants hanging off of simple but elegantly designed street lamps. It feels a little like one of those towns he'd seen glimpses of in the tattered storybooks he'd read when he was little. The little places where the sun never quite sets and the people somehow always find their happy ending.

Sam introduces him to a handful of people who are all too nice, greeting Steve as if they've known him his whole life. They shake his hand and welcome him to the town, making sure that he knows to visit again. It's a little overwhelming, but these are good people. Most of them have heard about him coming (nothing stays a secret in this town apparently) and all had nothing but positive things to say about Sarah. Simply put, she's well respected and liked by pretty much everyone in town. By the time Steve is introduced to Thor ( the tallest, biggest, most boisterous man he's ever met), the owner of The Hammer, the town's cafe-bar, there's a new worry on his mind. He's going to have to be careful about what he says and does, lest his actions reflect badly upon Sarah. But, he does his best to let the worry not show on his face and gives Thor a smile and a promise to return on the way out. Thor gives him a friendly pat on the back that would've sent Steve into the wall if Sam hadn't been there to catch him.

Thor laughs, a loud, booming sound. “Forgive me, my friend. I forget my own strength.” Steve looks the man up and down pointedly, trying to maintain a semi-serious expression when his brain is too excited about being called 'friend' to be normal. He squints at the man's arms – which are easily the size of Steve's entire torso.

“Please,” he says, tongue in cheek, “save me from your modesty.” Thor blinks at him for second then bursts into more laughter. Sam holds out his hand for a high five.

“I approve of this one,” Thor says to Sam and Steve let's himself grin stupidly as they leave the cafe.

Unfortunately, his elation doesn't last long. There's a commotion down the street that immediately catches his attention. Steve squints down the street and sees a group of six guys standing in a loose circle around a redheaded girl they've backed against a wall. He can't quite make out what they're saying, but it's obvious that they're either making fun of her or goading her for something. A couple of the guys are crowding up into her personal space even as she's resolutely standing her ground. As Steve watches, she snarks something at the guys that makes them laugh loudly, mocking. Steve feels heat rising in his chest.

“Who are they?” he asks, voice tight. He feels more than sees Sam shift beside him. A hand is suddenly on his arm, probably to keep him from doing anything brash.

“Bucky and his clowns,” Sam comments, an eye roll loud and clear in his voice. “Don't mind them, they're always like this.” Steve's about to reply with something along the lines of 'it's not right' but before he gets the chance to, one of the guys shoves redheaded girl against the wall. He sees red. Not giving Sam a chance to act, Steve tears off down the street. Faintly, he hears Sam call after him but he doesn't stop. The group isn't very far away, but Steve's lungs are heaving by the time he gets to them. At least, what he lacks in speed and lung capacity, he makes up for with dogged determination. Without a second thought, he shoves himself between the guy and the girl, the element of surprise making the guy spring backwards in shock. There's a brief moment where everyone freezes, not quite sure what's going on. Anger burning in his veins, chest heaving, Steve glares at the six guys who all tower over him. They all look around his age, a couple of years older give or take.

“Uh, who are you?” one of the guys asks, half confused and half mocking. The others snicker. Steve's gaze snaps to him, eyes the obvious bulk of muscle beneath his clothes. He shifts instinctively into a defensive crouch.

“You guys wanna apologize to the lady?” he demands instead of answering the guy's question. Though his chest is heaving, he forces his voice to remain steady. His temper only ratchets up another notch when they all trade looks before bursting into laughter.

“We were just having fun, weren't we, Tasha?” the guy who had pushed the redheaded girl into the wall asks with a self-satisfied smirk on his full lips. He glances briefly at Steve, but levels his attention at the girl instead. Steve turns his glare to the guy, noting the laid back swagger in his posture, the easy confidence. If he had to guess, Steve would guess this guy to be the ringleader.

The girl behind him snorts. “Sure we were, James. Now leave me alone.”

“Aww,” James says, “but we --”

Steve cuts him off. “You heard her,” he snaps, “now back off.” This gets James' attention for real. Blue-gray eyes look him up and down with interest and Steve bristles. He's always been somewhat self-conscious about how he looks and judging by James' demeanor, the guy finds him lacking. Those lips curl into another lazy smirk.

“What's it to you?” James asks. Around him, the other guys are looking on with varying degrees of interest at the tiny newcomer.

Steve glares some more. “I don't like bullies.” James' eyebrows lift in surprise at Steve's response.

“Right,” James says a beat later, looking around at his guys and inviting them into some sort of joke, “so you plant your tiny self in front of six guys twice your size?” The guys snicker at Steve's expense again. Steve raises his fists in reply. _Tiny self_...how dare they.

“Someone has to stand up.” Before he gets the chance to move, though, Sam is suddenly there next to him, holding him back with a hand on his shoulder. He tries to shrug the hand off but Sam holds tight.

“Leave him alone, Bucky,” he says to James. Steve's too angry to really register the name-change. “Steve, calm down.”

Steve's opening his mouth to retort but James-Bucky beats him to it. “Let the little guy fight his own battles, Sammy,” he goads, stepping closer. “I think this runt can handle it.”

And really, the guy dug his own grave in the end. With an angry grunt, Steve propels himself out of Sam's grip and lands a solid punch on the guy's jaw, wiping the smug expression off his face as he stumbles back in surprise. The rest of the guys surge forward but Bucky holds up a hand and effectively stops them in their tracks. Blue-gray eyes stare at Steve in shock. Chest heaving in adrenaline fueled rage, Steve is mortified by the sudden rush of angry tears in his eyes as he resolutely maintains eye-contact with Bucky. “Don't ever say that word again,” he seethes quietly.

Bucky is rubbing at his jaw, mouth working to formulate a response, still staring at Steve. In hindsight, Steve will realize that Bucky never looked angry, merely apologetic. For now, though, he can barely see past his own anger and hurt at being hit where he's most vulnerable. He doesn't resist when two pairs of hands drag him away and around the corner out of sight of the group of guys. He's too busy trying to quell the tightness beginning to gather in his chest. Sam and the redhead are standing in front of him, but Steve can't look at them yet. Instead, he focuses on taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's freaking out a little. _I can't believe I just punched someone for real_.

“Damn kid,” Sam says after awhile, breaking the silence between them, “you're a real spitfire huh?”

Steve takes another deep breath. “He had it coming.” He looks up at Sam, challenging him to defend Bucky. The man proves his aptitude for reading people once again by backing off immediately. He looks concerned, though, at Steve's heavy breathing.

“Hey man, I'm not saying anything. Barnes deserves a good punch to his pretty face once in a while.” The redheaded girl snorts in agreement at that. She turns to Steve and holds out a hand. Steve takes it after a moment of consideration, wincing when she grips his hand with much more strength than he'd anticipated. He looks closely at her first time and blushes a little at how beautiful she is up close. Intimidating too, if the fiery intelligence in her eyes is anything to go by.

“I'm Natasha,” she says, amusement shining in her green eyes. “Thanks for jumping to my defense, but I really didn't need it. James may act like a jerk sometimes but he's harmless. That and I can handle myself.”

“Yeah. Well. I didn't like the way they were treating you.” Steve gives a self conscious shrug. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, he feels a little stupid at how fast he'd let his temper get out of control. Just a little. But then, he thinks of the self-satisfied smirk Bucky had worn and feels slightly better. He sighs a little, then looks back at Natasha. They're about the same height, he notices begrudgingly. “I'm Steve,” he says as an afterthought.

Her lips quirk upwards. “I know. You're Sarah Rogers' new kid.” She looks him up and down. Steve has the unsettling feeling of being read like an open book. “Welcome to Brookside.”

“Thanks.”

As she's leaving, Natasha turns to Sam. “Keep an eye on this one,” she says, then looks back at Steve. “Remember to ice that hand as soon as possible.”

The hand in question throbs painfully at the suggestion. He stares after her retreating back then over at Sam. Sam gives a half shrug at the questioning look on Steve's face. “That's Natasha,” he offers as an explanation. “She's right about your hand. Come on.”

Steve looks down at his hand and grimaces at the bruises already forming on his knuckles. He really hopes Sarah doesn't hear about this.

~o~

Of course, Sarah finds out. It's a small town. Words travel fast when everyone knows each other.

Steve has been sitting in his room icing his hand for a while by the time Sarah comes back to the house. He's been staring out the window unseeingly for the better half of the afternoon, mind in overdrive as he imagines all the things Sarah might say. There's a high chance that she may decide to scrap this trial period and send Steve to wherever the adoption agency suggests. Honestly, Steve wouldn't blame her if she did. Barely a day into the trial period and he's already gotten into trouble. And the day had started off so well.

The front door closes seconds before Steve hears the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. For a split second, his eyes dart around the room, looking for a place to hide. But that's childish and irresponsible so he shuts down that thought and tries to keep his breathing normal. Sarah finds him not a moment later.

“Steve?” she asks from the doorway, voice quiet but firm. Steve cringes inwardly. Sarah doesn't sound angry, but he doesn't know if that's actually better than her being angry. He stands up off the window seat and turns to face her. Brown eyes track his movements and Steve doesn't quite miss the way her eyes shift to his hand before returning to his face. His face heats up in embarrassment from that alone. “I heard about what happened,” Sarah says bluntly, without preamble. “Is it true?”

Steve nods solemnly. “I'm sorry.”

“Why'd you do it?” Her face is stern, mouth set in disapproval. Oh god, she's going to throw him out. Steve feels like throwing up.

“They were picking on Natasha and making her uncomfortable. I had to do something to stop them,” he says after a few tries, mouth dry. Sarah doesn't say anything to that, her gaze unwavering, so Steve continues. “I don't like bullies.”

“So you punched him.”

“I...well...,” Steve trails off as he realizes how stupid he's about to sound, but Sarah is looking at him expectantly. “Bucky...He called me a runt.” His voice shakes at the words, anger burning hot in his eyes. He looks down, not wanting to meet her gaze so she wouldn't see the tears. And yes, some part of him knows that it's ridiculous to be so worked up about a simple word, but he's had to deal with too many people whispering similar things behind his back moments before they walked away. To have someone say it to his face...

“He had no right to say that.” Steve wraps his arms around himself, ashamed at how much he's hurting from so little a thing. Sarah, seeing his turmoil, comes into the room and guides Steve down to sit with her on the window seat.

“You're right, he had no right to call you names,” she says gently but firmly, “but you did not have to resort to violence. You let your anger get the best of you.” Steve struggles a little against her words, but relents with a sigh. He knows she's right.

“I'm sorry,” he says miserably after some hesitation. He thinks of the how Bucky's eyes had been wide with shock, how he hadn't even thought about it before he threw the punch. It'd probably really hurt despite how small Steve is. All of a sudden he's exhausted. “I didn't mean to hurt anyone.”

Sarah smiles a little for the first time since she came to find him. She lays a hand on his arm. “I know you didn't.” Steve still can't bring himself to look at her.

“Are you going to send me away?” he asks softly, afraid of her answer.

To his surprise, Sarah chuckles at that. “No,” she says with mirth when Steve raises his eyes to her in disbelief. “No, Steve. I'm not going to send you away just because you landed a punch on poor Bucky's face.” She laughs at her own words. When Steve continues to look at her in bewilderment, she sobers a little. “I know you're telling the truth about not wanting to hurt anyone, and jumping in to defend Natasha was an honorable thing. What you did wasn't right, but Bucky had it coming too. So as long as we can work on your temper and you promise to not resort to violence at the slightest provocation, this trial period can continue.”

For a few moments, Steve is once again at a loss of words. Sarah is watching him with patience and kindness, her back lit by the setting sun and all he can think about is how incredibly lucky he is to have been sent to her. Here she is, giving him another chance yet again when he's done nothing to deserve it.

“I promise I'll work on my temper and not resort to violence again,” Steve says as earnestly as he knows how. “Thank you for giving me another chance.” Sarah smiles again and stands up. She ruffles his hair a bit as she heads for the door.

“Make sure to remember that when you start school on Monday,” she says over her shoulder.

It takes a second for those word to make sense (Steve is starting to think he's becoming slow on the uptake or something). He gapes after her.

“What?!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one...

School, as it turns out, is a one room house in which one teacher instructs students from as young as seven years old to as old as eighteen. How effective this is is not exactly up for debate as there's only thirty or so students in the whole building and therefore having teachers for each grade level would not have made sense. The “school” wouldn't be able to afford it; nor does the town have enough teachers for such an arrangement. Not that Steve cares exactly how the school is being run. Having been practically home-schooled his whole life, he's finding a classroom of thirty to be somewhat of a daunting environment.

All eyes are immediately on him when he enters the school house. It's as if everyone had somehow known that he would be showing up today. Steve keeps himself from glancing nervously around the room. Instead he focuses on keeping his shoulders straight and his head up as Mr. Fury, the school teacher, beckons him to the front of the class to introduce himself. Steve looks at no one in particular as he plasters a grin on his face and says hello to the class. Satisfied, Mr. Fury gestures toward the back of the class. “Take a seat next to Ms. Romanoff,” he says in dismissal.

The girl that waves at him from the back of the room is, to his delight, none other than Natasha. She quirks an amused smile at him as he makes his way over. Steve smiles back, but then makes the mistake of glancing past her to the people sitting in the row behind her. His eyes widen in horrified recognition and he flings himself into the seat next to Natasha. The group of guys sitting behind them snicker and Steve feels his face flame in indignation. Because he'd promised Sarah that he wouldn't be getting into any more trouble, though, he keeps his gaze resolutely ahead. Of course, that only lasts a few seconds before someone is tapping him on the shoulder. His whole body stiffens as he fights the urge to turn around.

“Hey! Steve!” someone whispers right behind him. Steve groans to himself and doesn't miss the way Natasha is silently laughing at him. Before anyone has the chance to say anything, though, Mr. Fury calls for the class' attention. Steve doesn't know whether to breathe a sigh of relief at having this particular confrontation interrupted or to be miffed that he now has to sit and worry about its inevitability at the end of the day, so he tries to focus on the lesson as much as possible to keep from overthinking. Natasha pats him on the knee with a sympathetic, knowing smirk for his efforts.

~o~

When Mr. Fury dismisses them at the end of the day, there's a mad rush for the exit. After a long day of lecture and individual study, everyone is more than eager to go home. Steve is too, only he takes his time gathering his stuff (a small pile of worn books that he's required to take home) and thanking Mr. Fury for accepting him into class. He tells himself that he's not stalling in the hopes that the guys will be long gone by the time he exits the building. He's just...being organized and respectful. Right.

Natasha is waiting for him by the door when he's finally ready to go. He gives her an apologetic look for taking so long. Her eyebrow twitches in acknowledgment, but Steve is more worried about the amused crook of her mouth as she glances out the door and then back at him. “You're on your own for this one, Steve,” she says then laughs when he sighs loudly. “I have an appointment so I can't stick around.” Steve kind of wants to tell her to stay so that he doesn't have to do this alone, but then berates himself for being selfish. He got himself into this situation, he can get himself out. Besides, it's just a group of guys. Not a big deal. He just doesn't want to interact with them...that's all. He tightens his arms around the stack of books he's precariously balancing before following Natasha out the door.

He's approached immediately. Steve barely keeps himself from stumbling back in shock when Bucky runs over to them, effectively blocking their way. “Steve,” Bucky says, “I'm really sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have said those things.” The guy, to Steve's disbelief, actually sounds genuine. He tilts his head back to look up at Bucky and promptly winces at the nasty bruise covering the side of Bucky's jaw.

“Sorry for punching you,” Steve says. He looks around, but doesn't see the rest of the guys. They must have left already.

Natasha snorts.“Nice face,” she comments wryly.

Bucky rolls his eyes, but Steve can see that there's no malice in his stance. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Tasha. I blame you,” he teases.

“Someone needs to take you down a couple pegs once in awhile,” Natasha laughs. She steps around Bucky and waves back at them as she leaves. “As much as I'd love to stick around, boys, I have an appointment to keep.” Steve is really starting to like her.

He turns back to Bucky. The taller boy is smiling after Natasha in amusement. Steve takes the moment to look at him up close. Despite the angry bruise covering the lower part of Bucky's face, he's surprisingly handsome. Steve takes in the strong jaw line and admittedly charming smile and has to tamper down the blush fighting to surface. He scrubs a hand over his face...and promptly loses his precarious grip on the books. Just as the books are starting to topple, however, a hand darts out and saves them from falling to the ground.

Steve finds himself suddenly staring into a pair of gray-blue eyes. “Uh, thanks,” he mutters abashedly. His face heats. _Wow, this is so not the time to start finding people attractive._

Bucky gives him a considering look. “Am I forgiven?” he asks.

Steve huffs a little. Yes Bucky's apology had seemed sincere, it doesn't change the fact that his words had been really hurtful. “I haven't decided,” he replies, and hopes that he sounds at least somewhat confident, especially when Bucky's face falls in disappointment at his answer. He skirts around Bucky to continue down the road. “I have to go.”

“Wait. I can give you a ride back,” Bucky says, and gestures towards where two cars are parked by the schoolhouse. Steve considers it for a moment, but doesn't quite want to accept help just yet. The books aren't too heavy to carry.

He shakes his head. “Thanks, but I'm fine on my own.” Bucky looks like he wants to argue, but thinks better of it when Steve gives him a pointed look. Steve can see the resignation on his face and for the briefest moment he wants to relent but his pride gets the better of him. “Bye,” he says and walks off before he changes his mind. If Bucky watches him go, Steve doesn’t turn around to check. Neither does he acknowledge the strange flutter in his stomach the whole way back.


	6. Chapter 6

Sarah has a routine house call the next night. After making sure that he’s done his homework and chores, she allows Steve to tag along. Though he doesn’t quite know what to expect, Steve can’t deny that he’s equal parts excited and nervous. He’s taken care of his share of sick kids when living in the share home, but this would be the first time he’s “officially” on this side of the bed (he’d kind of just been there for Riley).

“How was your first day of school?” Sarah asks on the way to her patient’s house. The lights on the dashboard illuminate her face in the dark. There are no street lamps this far out of downtown and they’re pretty much the only car on the road.

Steve shrugs. “It was very different than homeschool.”

“I can imagine,” Sarah comments good naturally. “When I first came to this town, I could barely fathom the idea of having school in one room with kids of all ages.”

“You didn’t grow up here then?” Steve asks in surprise.

Sarah laughs. “Not even close. My, uh, husband and I moved here only five years ago.” Steve doesn’t miss the way she trips over the mention of her husband. He really wants to ask, but really doesn’t know if it’s appropriate. Instead, he focuses on the other part of her statement that’d piqued his interest.

“Sam told me that almost everyone in this town was born and raised here,” he says. There’s something else on the tip of his tongue but he can’t quite put it into words.

The light from the dashboard slides over Sarah’s face as she glances over at him. “Looks like you and I have something in common,” she smiles warmly. Steve stares at her for a moment before smiling tentatively in return. She got what he’s trying to say without him even knowing what he wants to say. From what he’s seen and heard, Sarah belongs here. She was an outsider, and now she’s so unquestionably, wholly accepted. And somehow, that gives Steve hope that he could one day belong too. He settles back in his seat, mulling this over. A comfortable silence settles inside the car.

Sarah speaks up again a few minutes later. “Oh yeah,” she says casually, “did you get a chance to see Bucky again?” Steve’s reaction is immediate. His face heats up for no reason and he’s suddenly glad that it’s so dark in the car. _Why is he blushing anyway?!_

“Yeah.” He comments, trying for nonchalant.

“And?”

Steve squints at Sarah. He could swear she’s teasing him about...something. But all he can see in the dark is curiosity on her face. “I apologized for punching him in the face.”

For some reason unknown to him, Sarah guffaws at that. He huffs. “Good for you. Did he take it well?”

Steve thinks about how Bucky had done nothing but apologize this whole time, how there’d been such sincerity in those big gray-blue eyes. He shakes his head at himself and crosses his arms over his thin chest. “Yeah. He was nice.” Sarah hums noncommittally. Steve pouts a little. “Doesn’t change the fact that he said some really hurtful things.”

The car slows and turns to stop in front of a house. Sarah reaches over the center console and gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You’ll work it out,” she says sagely before getting out of the car.

Steve still gets the distinct feeling that she’s teasing him.

~o~

The patient is an elderly woman who takes an immediate liking to Steve. She’d recently been hospitalized for a long and aggressive bout of pneumonia and had just been released last week. Sarah comes over to her house every week to check on her recovery and deliver medications.

“What a handsome boy you are, Steve,” Margaret Carter comments, brown eyes twinkling, while Sarah takes her temperature and checks her pulse. Steve splutters and turns red for the second time that night while Sarah laughs quietly.

“You’d be the first to say so, ma’am,” Steve sniffs wryly.

“Oh, nonsense, call me Peggy,” Mrs. Carter gripes, waving a hand to beckon him closer. Steve approaches with apprehension. She looks him over while he tries not to squirm. Her eyes are kind, still full of fire in her age. He can see that she’d been a beautiful, fierce woman once upon a time, still is despite the worn lines of her face. She smiles up at him from where she’s propped up in bed and hums in thought. “I stand by what I said. Boy, if I were a young woman again...”

Steve is going to die of embarrassment. His face flames anew and he stammers for a response. “Ma’am…” he starts off but both Peggy and Sarah burst into laughter before he gets the chance to say anything. He gawks at them in disbelief.

Peggy is the first to recover. “Sorry for teasing you, Steve. I just couldn’t help it.”

Steve huffs again, but can’t help the tiny smile that teases at his lips. “It’s alright.” Sarah gets herself together and finishes checking Peggy over while Steve watches with rapt attention. They chitchat while Sarah scribbles down notes in a notebook that she keeps in the nurse’s bag and lays out the medication that she’d brought on Peggy’s bedside table. Sarah’s packing up her things when Peggy touches her arm, gentle. Steve feels the mood shift almost immediately.

“How have you been, Sarah?” Sarah pauses in her movements and Steve can see that she’s struggling to find an answer. He’s wary, all of a sudden, and makes a half a step to leave the room; just in case the conversation isn’t meant for him to hear. But Sarah answers before he gets a chance to leave. And then he can’t leave even if he wants to. She sighs heavily.

“It’s a little easier every day, Peggy,” she murmurs quietly, her shoulders are slumped in defeat for the first time since Steve’s been here. The sorrow in her voice is enough to make Steve freeze in trepidation even as he wants to reach out and offer some form of comfort. Thankfully, Peggy doesn’t seem to be similarly frozen. She wraps a wrinkled hand around Sarah’s and squeezes soothingly.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral,” Peggy says. Steve startles at her words and for once, he’s not quite so slow on the uptakes. A horrible, sinking feeling settles in his stomach.

Sarah sighs again, shaking her head. “It’s not your fault.” The reassurance doesn’t do much to erase the morose expression on Peggy’s face. They stare at each other for a long moment before Peggy speaks up again.

“Take care of yourself, dear,” she says finally. Sarah nods and pulls away, straightening her shoulders the same way that Steve does when he’s telling himself to be strong. She efficiently finishes packing up her supplies and bids Peggy a fond goodbye before heading for the door. Steve tries to catch her eye as she passes, but she is gazing resolutely ahead, her expression impassive.

“Come on, Steve.” He scrambles after her, but pauses in the doorway of Peggy’s room. The old woman’s face is a mixture of sympathy and affection. She smiles warmly at him when he tells her goodbye and promises to be back to visit soon. By the time Steve makes it downstairs, Sarah is already in the car waiting for him.

~o~

The drive home is tense with the sort of silence that reminds Steve of the night that he’d arrived. He thinks he has a pretty good idea of what that last exchange with Peggy had been about… and has absolutely no clue what to do about it. On one hand, he wants to ask, to know for sure and whatever sort of condolence that he can. But on the other, he’s afraid of what he might hear. So he wrings his hands and sits stiffly in his seat, periodically glancing at Sarah out of the corner of his eyes.

In the end, it’s not Steve who breaks the silence, but he’s starting to get used to this. “You must have some questions,” Sarah says quietly. She doesn’t take her eyes off the road. 

“I don’t want to intrude,” Steve says carefully. 

Sarah shakes her head. “It’s alright.” It’s clearly not, but as he’s coming to learn, Sarah isn’t one to back down too easily. She’ll put on a brave face regardless of the situation. Stubborn. Just like he can be. Seems like they have another thing in common. And she’s right, he does have some questions. But asking all of them doesn’t seem right so after a moment, Steve asks the most important one he can think of.

“What happened?” 

After taking a deep breath to collect herself, Sarah begins. “My husband Joseph and I moved here five years ago because of his declining health. The doctors had estimated that he would last no longer than two years. We thought we’d move to a nice, quiet place to spend those last couple of years. I quit my job at the hospital and he quit his. He was a pharmacist at the same hospital. Joseph had always wanted to live by the ocean, and we happened to hear about Brookside from a friend who’d passed through recently. We were lucky. The house had just gone on sale and it was everything we’d wanted. We signed for it without any second thoughts.” She smiles at the memory even as Steve, wide-eyed, can already feel his heart starting to break for her. 

“Joseph needed medical care of course. Because the town and all of its surrounding areas had no medical providers, I was able to work out a contract to be the area medical provider and therefore receive supplies and compensation from the government. The move was easy and we fell in love with Brookside early on.” Here, Sarah takes another deep breath before continuing. Her hands tighten on the steering wheel briefly before relaxing. “Everything was good. Better than we’d hoped for. Joseph flourished in this environment and his health actually improved for awhile. He took up farming, bought some cows, planted whole fields with our neighbors. He was happy and in turn I was overjoyed. We talked about adopting kids even though we weren’t sure how long he had. For awhile, I even started to think that the doctors had been wrong. I started to believe that between this beautiful place and how we loved each other that nothing would take him away. But life doesn’t work out that way sometimes.” 

Sarah swallows, the action audible for how quiet it is in the car. Her expression turns wistful and for the second time that night, Sarah’s shoulders slump in defeat. Steve’s breath is caught in his chest. “Joseph’s health started declining again within this past year. He passed away three months ago,” Sarah says, her voice full of sorrow, so quiet that Steve almost strains to hear it. She doesn’t say anymore after that. And even though it’s confirmation of what he’d been suspecting, the horror of it sends violent shivers down his frame. 

“I’m so, so sorry, Sarah,” Steve finally breathes. His chest aches something fierce but he doesn’t acknowledge it. God he can’t even imagine what Sarah must have gone through, what it must take to keep going. This is exactly why he can’t become too attached to anyone. Why he won’t allow himself to. If something as wonderful as Sarah and Joseph’s obvious love for each other can be taken away just like that, then what’s to prevent him from experiencing the same? Maybe it really is better to just not put himself in that position in the first place. The ache in his chest increases and he can feel the sting of tears gathering in his eyes. He won’t let them fall though.

The car pulls into the driveway before Sarah answers. “I am too,” she says. “I wish it didn’t have to happen this way.” Sarah turns the key and the car shuts off, but neither of them make a move to get out, both too caught up in their own thoughts. Steve stares out the windshield at the house that Sarah’s husband had once called home. The driveway lights cast eerie shadows on its facade.

“Do you regret it?’ Steve blurts out. He cringes when he feels Sarah to look at him in surprise.

“Do I regret what?”

Steve forces himself to turn and look Sarah in the eye even as his skin suddenly feels too hot, prickling with some mixture of shame and recklessness and desperation. His breath wheezes when he inhales, but he fights to tamper it down. “Do you…” his voice shakes and he’s having to take breaths between his words, “do you regret loving your husband?” He cringes again. That came out a lot more blunt than he’d wanted it to. But the tightness in his chest suddenly grips him in a chokehold and the explanation that he tries to offer turns into a gasp for air. This time, the wheezing is all too obvious. His eyes widen in shock. Maybe he shouldn’t have ignored the building pressure in his lungs.

Sarah’s reaction is instantaneous. She swears quietly even as she’s quickly jumping out of the car and running around to open Steve’s door. Steve fumbles for his seatbelt while trying to keep himself calm. He’s had plenty of asthma attacks before. This is nothing new. Still, his heart races as each breath draws in less air than the one before. 

“Where’s your inhaler, Steve?” Sarah asks as she pulls him out of the car, throwing his arm over her shoulder and supporting him as they make for the house. Steve shakes his head. It’s upstairs in his room somewhere, but he can’t find the breath to tell her that. She takes that in stride and steer him into the clinic. The lights come on automatically and Steve has to blink hard against the sudden brightness. His vision is starting to swim and the sound of his wheezing is grating to his ears. Sarah boosts him up to sit on one of the beds and Steve fights the urge to curl in on himself. He knows the drill. “Keep breathing, kiddo.” 

She lunges for one of the cabinets and comes back with a rescue inhaler. His fingers twist into the sheets of the bed when Sarah puts the tip of the inhaler in his mouth. “Breathe,” she coaxes as she triggers the medicine, “come on. I’ve got you.” Steve does as told. The medicine is cold as it enters his lungs, but with a couple careful breaths and another puff of the inhaler later, he can feel his the tightness starting to disperse. Sarah is rubbing his back soothingly, and the wheezing starts to ease. His breaths are still coming in pants, but Steve can feel the oxygen getting into his lungs. He leans his forehead against Sarah’s shoulder, too exhausted to be embarrassed. 

“There you go,” Sarah soothes, her voice soft and comforting. She doesn’t stop rubbing his back. Steve can feel his eyes starting to droop. He’s always so worn out when he has an attack. Both of them breathe in silence for a while. Then Sarah speaks again. “No, I don’t regret it,” she says, obviously answering his question from before. Steve sits up a little and looks up into her face. Her brown eyes are sad, but there’s a small smile on her lips. “Joseph and I met when were were very young. I’ve loved him for the better half of my life and I don’t regret any second of it. Yes, he was taken too soon and I wish things had been different all the time. But that doesn’t change the fact that I got to share some of the best moments in my life with him.”

“Isn’t that worse?” Steve asks quietly, voice tight with emotion. “Having all of that and not being able to have that again? To have it taken away after knowing how it used to be and how it could be?” He gazes imploringly up at her, needing to hear her answer more than anything at the moment.

Sarah considers him for a long moment, her eyes full of sympathy. She reaches up and brushes his hair off his forehead; the gesture so motherly that Steve can do nothing to stop the tears flooding his eyes once more. He still refuses to let them fall though. If Sarah notices, she doesn’t comment on them. “I know you’re asking these questions because of what you’ve experienced in your life. And I hope that someday you can share them with me. For now, kiddo, trust me when I tell you this.” Steve’s hanging on to her words. 

“I loved - love - Joseph more than anything or anyone. I loved him more than I thought possible. The day he died was the worst day of my life. Every day since has been a struggle. There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t wish I could do something to have him back, even for a little while. I’d trade anything for that. But, the thing is, I would do it all over again. I truly, deeply believe that my life was better for having had him in it. No matter how much it hurts, I’m so grateful to have experienced that love. That’s something I would not trade for the world.” She pauses. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Steve thinks about her words and nods slowly. “It’s better to have loved than not at all,” he says. The words feel strange on his tongue, but he thinks he can work on that. He’ll have to think over everything Sarah has said tonight. Sarah smiles warmly at him. 

“Exactly right.” She helps him off the bed and tilts her head to catch his eye. “I hope you can believe it one day.” 

When Sarah finishes shutting off the lights, they head upstairs together for bed. Steve has to drag himself up the stairs he’s so weary. At the top of the stairs, Steve pauses. Sarah raises an eyebrow at him in question and Steve only hesitates a little before throwing himself at her. She stumbles a little in surprise even as he wraps his arms around her tight. And for the first time in as long as he can remember, he experiences what it feels like to be held close.

~o~

The next morning is a day off for the both of them. Steve’s doing the chores in the barn when Sarah joins him, murmuring a quiet good morning before stepping in to help out with the bottling. He tries not to feel self-conscious even though he knows Sam has taught him well. They settle into a nice and efficient assembly line without much effort while Steve tries to get a read on Sarah’s mood this morning. She doesn’t seem worse for wear from the conversation last night, but she is more quiet than usual, less lively. His heart goes out to her. Now that he knows the truth about her husband, he can’t help but think about how strong she must be to still be here like this. He’d thought all night about what she’d said and even if he’s still sorting through everything, he think everything that had happened last night has brought them slightly closer. He wonders if she’d agree, but doesn’t break the comfortable silence to mention it.

They’re carrying the bottles of milk to the refrigerator when Sarah finally speaks up. “Steve, I’ve come to a decision,” she says and Steve has to force himself to keep walking, not drop the milk. He tries to remain calm even as his pulse sky rockets in anticipation. They reach the fridge before Sarah has the chance to say anything else and for a few long seconds, Steve is stuck handing Sarah the bottles so that she can put them in fridge. He’s going to start sweating bullets soon if this continues. The fridge door slamming shut is like the thunderclap before a storm. Steve swallows nervously when Sarah turns to look at him. Sarah’s face doesn’t give anything away for the longest second, expression impassive. Then her features soften minutely and Steve can’t breathe for the sudden hope flaring in his chest. She smiles.

“I’m filing the adoption papers today,” she says casually, as if it’s not the most important thing Steve has ever heard (second only to what Mrs. Pewter had said at the beginning of all this but that really doesn’t count because it hadn’t been real). He gapes at her for a long moment, blinking in incomprehension, mouth working to form words. 

“Really?!”

Sarah’s smile widens. “Yes, really.”

“You’re not kidding? This is real?” Steve feels light headed. He’d hoped but some part of him hadn’t truly believed this day would actually come. His whole body is trembling with emotion. “Oh my god.”

“I’m not kidding,” Sarah says patiently. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot for the past couple of days and last night actually made it clear.” She takes a few steps forward and frames Steve’s face with her hands - so steady and gentle on his skin. He stares into the warmth of her brown eyes and can’t look away even if he’d wanted to. There’s so much there that he can’t begin to understand but he recognizes the sad tint to the affection. His eyes fill with tears without warning. “Joseph would’ve taken you in from the start. He’d always wanted a son, but it never worked out. And after spending this past week or so with you here, I think it’d be safe to say that he would’ve been overjoyed to have you as a son.”

Steve can’t help it, the tears spill over and slip down his cheeks, the sensation simultaneously familiar and not. It’s been years since he’s cried. “Do you really mean that?” he asks softly, voice trembling, too overwhelmed to be embarrassed. “No one’s ever wanted me before.”

“I do,” Sarah says, and uses a thumb to wipe the tears from his face. “Joseph would’ve too, I promise.” The look on her face is impossibly tender and Steve has to bite back a sob. She pulls him close and wraps her arms around him tight. He clings to her unashamedly. “I think you’re a wonderful young boy who deserves a home. And this is new for both of us, I don’t know a thing about being a mother, but I think we can do this together. I’m willing to try. How about you?”

Steve sniffs a little. “I’ll try. I’ll try to be the best son for you.”

Sarah chuckles at that and ruffles his hair. “You don’t have to be, kiddo, but thanks for wanting to try.” She doesn’t let go of him though, and Steve is more than willing to hold on a little longer. Her hand rubs soothingly up and down his back. “You remind me of Joseph sometimes, you know.” She says wistfully, amazed too. “Some days it’s a little unnerving because I can see myself in you too. It’s almost as if this was supposed to happen.” Her words hang in the air for a long while, blanketing them in warmth more tangible than the sunlight streaming through the windows of the shed.

Eventually, Steve is the one to pull away first. He scrubs at his eyes and forces a brave smile on his face. “Thank you, Sarah, for giving me a chance. I am so lucky to have found you.” His voice is still a little trembly. He thinks he’ll be shaking for hours at this rate.

“The feeling is mutual, Steve,” she insists, “it’s nice to have someone else in the house again.”

~o~

Later that day, Sarah calls Steve into her study to show him the adoption papers. Steve is still slightly in shock. Everything feels surreal. She must know this somehow. The paperwork is partially to show him that yes, this is entirely real and he’s not dreaming and partially to show him his new name. He’s never had an official last name, just a generic one usually assigned to every Baby Doe out there. His first name was given by one of his caretakers at the orphanage.

“Do you want a middle name?” Sarah asks as she’s finalizing the papers. She hasn’t stopped smiling to herself this whole time and that in itself is what’s keeping Steve anchored and believing that she’s actually doing this for real, that she wants to do this.

He barely has to think. “Grant,” he says. She cocks an eyebrow at him as she types it in, probably surprised at his quick response. He ducks his head and stammers out an explanation about his window friend. A brief look of sympathy crosses her face when he explains that he’s never had a real friend, but she hides it quickly.

A couple of seconds later, the paperwork is finished and Steve can’t help but grin widely in exhilaration as he traces his eyes over his new name over and over again. 

Steven Grant Rogers.

Sixteen years, and he finally has a home.


	7. Interlude

After that, the days and weeks start flying by and Steve finds himself settling into a comfortable routine of chores, school, and seeing patients with Sarah. He starts drawing again. This time, his sketchbook is filled with pages of scenes from around town and more than a handful of carefully rendered images of the ocean that he’d finally gotten to see. Sarah hangs up one of them in the clinic when he works up the nerve to show her some of his drawings. Every time he sees it it brings a smile to his face. And if he keeps the sketches of the new life he’s imagining hidden, no one else will know.

At some point between the leaves changing and falling off, Steve begins to think of Sarah’s house as home. Sarah becomes a mixture of friend, mentor, and mother figure and Steve can feel himself starting to fit into her life. Though the details have changed, Steve starts seeing bits of the imaginary mother he had in Sarah. They don’t really speak of Sarah’s late husband again, but there’s a new understanding there that matures into something comforting. Some days, Steve will stare at the pictures on the walls and imagine what Joseph Rogers would say about Steve being here. Some days, Sarah will look extra sad and stare silently out the window and Steve will sit with her until she breathes right again. Occasionally, she will mention Joseph with a wistful smile on her face and Steve will smile back and file away those little moments for later. In his head, he imagines what kind of family they could’ve been and sees what he and Sarah could be.

Sam and Natasha are quickly becoming the first real friends that he’s ever known, and he visits Peggy every week to chat with her. She was an agent in World War II, and her stories are nothing short of exhilarating to listen to. He’s even started to think of Bucky’s continued efforts to befriend him as a welcomed part of everyday life. Though he’s forgiven Bucky a while ago now, he keeps up the pretense of being miffed and refusing his friendship so that their daily (minimal and brief) bantering wouldn’t cease. It’s fun, amusing at least...especially on the days where Steve doesn’t want to admit that he’s enjoying the attention more than he’d thought he would and that he doesn’t really know how else to talk to Bucky. 

There are days where he’s overjoyed, grateful to be in this place, surrounded by these people. Never had he truly believed it’d be possible to be adopted so late and by such a good person. The hope that had kindled in his heart back on board the train is a flame now, filling him with warmth and happiness. He’s so, so lucky. 

Unfortunately, though, there’s still a part of him that’s deeply terrified of losing it all. He doesn’t tell anyone about the trial period, keeps it a secret that eats at him with every interaction with his friends. Though it’s over and it should no longer be significant, to him the recent memory of it is a like a constant reminder that he wasn’t wanted to begin with. He’s wanted now. But what if he’s not wanted later? What then, after fully embracing this life? At night he repeats Sarah’s words in his head, trying to find comfort in the mantra of better-having-loved. Most nights he sleeps better than he did back at the share-home. But some nights he lays awake, Sarah and Joseph’s story echoing in his head as images of retreating backs and too many silent goodbyes haunt his thoughts. He tries to not let his misgivings show; puts on a brave face in front of Sarah and his newfound friends. He throws himself into everything he does and enjoys the company of Sarah, Sam, Natasha, Peggy, and even Bucky as much as he can. And on the days when it becomes too much, when his fears overshadows his newfound happiness, Steve retreats into himself. He pulls away, becomes cold, refusing to let others come near. His friends probably notice. But no one quite knows what to say and Steve doesn’t either. How can he explain to them that he _cannot_ allow himself to fully commit to these relationships because he’s afraid of their demise. Some days, it gets so bad that Steve has to physically isolate himself so that he doesn’t have to look at anyone and feel guilty for the hurt expression on their faces when he pulls away and refuses to let them in. Some days he thinks it’s just better to disappear and pretend that he _isn’t_ getting too close to everyone, getting too comfortable in this life. 

Bucky is the first person to find him during one of his self-proposed exiles. When he looks back upon it later - much later - Steve will say that’s the moment when things start falling together.


	8. Chapter 8

The small rocks make satisfying sounds when they land in the water. Steve picks up another and throws it with all his might into the river. Then repeats the process. His arm is starting to shake but he ignores it in favor of finding a bigger rock to throw. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out here, but he doesn’t have any plans today so it doesn’t matter. He just wants to be alone. 

Natasha and Sam had been talking about the Stark Party happening soon and what they were going to wear to the party. It’s 40s themed this year, and many people have already started putting together their outfits for it. Apparently the Starks send over a small store’s worth of clothing, accessories, and fabrics for whatever them they decide so that everyone can have something to wear (Steve is becoming more and more impressed by the Starks’ generosity). The seamstresses in town are backed up in orders and there’s a general air of excitement starting to thrum in the air. At some point during the conversation, though, Steve had gotten the horrible feeling that he wouldn’t be welcomed at the party. These people have had years and years of experience going to Stark Parties and it sounds undeniably exclusive to the townspeople. What if everyone still thinks of him as an outsider and he’s not welcomed to the event? What if this has all been just a dream and no one actually wants him here like he’d been made to believe. That had lead to all of his doubts surging up again and overtaking everything else. 

Steve knows that he’s probably being irrational, and he hates it. But he also knows that when he gets like this, gets into this kind of funk, it’s hard to wrench himself out. So what had started out as a fun and light hearted conversation had turned into Steve excusing himself and walking off, too upset about his conflicting emotions, his doubts to continue. He wants to participate, of course, but he doesn’t want to get himself excited only to be disappointed when it’s not for him to experience. Somehow that had turned into a near panic attack about the whole situation. So he’d left. Better to just go and think about something else - or think about nothing at all. Just be alone. He hates it when he gets like this.

Another rock flies through the air to splash loudly into the water. He’s picking up another one when another set of footsteps crunch on the rocky bank. 

“Steve?”

The rock in Steve’s hand slips out of his grasp in surprise. Steve jerks his head up to see Bucky standing a couple of feet from him, confusion on his face as he eyes the pile of rocks Steve’s gathered by his foot. 

“Bucky,” Steve acknowledges before picking up the rock that he’d dropped and tossing it into the river, satisfied when it makes a large splash. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks. He takes a few steps forward, but stops when Steve throws him a look. 

Steve groans a little under his breath as he hurls the next rock. “Nothing,” he grits out. He knows there’s no humor in his voice, knows he sounds harsh. But he’s frustrated and upset and there’s a ball of worry deep in his stomach that’s making it hard to breathe. If Bucky wants to stick around for his bad mood that’s his problem. “Leave me alone.”

Bucky doesn't leave. Instead, he takes a few steps closer and Steve tenses when he feels the other boy standing close. He ignores him though, and bends to pick up another rock. His arm is really shaking now and when he chucks it at the water he can’t help but release a grunt of effort and frustration. It doesn’t go very far and some water splashes on them. To his credit, Bucky doesn’t even flinch. When Steve goes to pick up the last rock, though, Bucky puts a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Hey, you’re shaking,” Bucky says gently. Steve shakes off the hand with a glare.

“I said leave me alone,” he snaps. He picks up the last rock and throws it out of spite, gasping softly when his arm gives out from the strain. Clutching his arm to his chest, Steve sinks down onto the ground and curls into himself. All the conflicted emotions and misery that he’d kept at bay until now come rushing back and he hides his face when he feels the distinctive burning in his eyes. Oh god, he hopes Bucky will get the hint and leave before he embarrasses himself.

Of course, Bucky doesn’t leave.

“Let me help.”

Steve huffs. “Why? You don’t even know me.”

An arm slips around his shoulders and Steve’s too tired to shake it off. At least, that’s what he tells himself. “Maybe I want to get to know you,” Bucky says. Then, when Steve doesn’t say anything to that, only hunching his shoulders even further in disbelief, “It’s going to be okay.” 

Steve shakes his head, face pressed into his knees, trying not to breathe too hard and lungs aching with the effort. “You don’t know that.” He curls tighter into himself, back tense, shoulders hunched. Bucky doesn’t say anything to that. His arm remains wrapped around Steve’s shoulders, warm and comforting. They stay like that for a long while, until Steve’s misery doesn’t feel like such an ugly thing and his breath no longer tremors in his chest. Eventually, he raises his head and doesn’t startle to find Bucky’s face so close to his own. It’s not quite as uncomfortable or awkward as he would expect. Rather, it feels…natural somehow. The gray-blue eyes are bright with worry, and Steve’s breath catches at the sight of them. He searches Bucky’s face for any sign of malice or pity, but finds only genuine concern and openness. Bucky lets him look, and doesn’t hide that he’s trying to read Steve too. The arm around Steve’s shoulders slips away and Steve immediately feels the absence of its warmth. He tries not to feel too dejected. They all leave in the end.

But Bucky stays close, stays crouched next to Steve even though it’s not exactly a comfortable position to be in. “Can I ask what’s wrong?” he asks cautiously. Steve looks away then back at Bucky, uncertain. How can he even begin to say what’s wrong when so much of it is deeply personal? He hasn’t even told his _friends_ yet. How can he tell someone he barely knows at all? And yet. Some part of him _wants_ to tell someone. The fact that that someone is turning out to be Bucky is surprising but not necessarily unsettling. In the end, that’s what makes all the difference. When the pretend animosity is put aside, Steve can’t deny how comfortable – how right – Bucky feels next to him. He uncurls and sits back into a more comfortable position.

“My being here is a mistake. The orphan share-home got it wrong and sent the wrong person,” he begins softly, staring at the water and how the setting sun is reflected in it. “I’m not the kid that Sarah had asked for, not even close to who she’d wanted.” He pauses to gauge Bucky’s reaction, but Bucky only nods for him to continue, face not betraying a thing. “Long story short, instead of sending me back to the share-home right away, Sarah offered me a trial period. She made the decision to adopt me a couple of weeks back, which I’m forever grateful for, but some days I can’t help but think that everything’s fake. So…”

“Here you are,” Bucky finishes for him.

Steve looks at him for a long moment. “So here I am,” he agrees, then promptly sighs. He goes back to staring at the water. “It’s been difficult, you know. Getting to know everyone and getting used to life here, knowing that it’s life on trial. Every time I feel like I have friends now or think that this is my life, I remember that it might not be permanent. Now that it is, I’m still afraid that it won’t be. So then I make myself pull back, sometimes literally, and remind myself not to get too attached so it won’t hurt as much in the end.”

“That’s a pretty hard way to live,” Bucky says. “Nothing is ever permanent.” Steve’s hackles raise instinctively at those words, but a quick glance at Bucky makes him relax. There’s no malice or judgment in Bucky’s voice, merely a statement of opinion. One that Steve would probably agree with if he had lived without certain experiences. 

“Yeah,” he says, looking down and trailing his fingers absentmindedly over the rocks on the ground. Some days, he hates that he can’t – is afraid to in some ways – move beyond his past experiences; hates that it’s built a wall around his heart so strong he doesn’t quite know how to escape it. “But leaving is all I’ve ever known. Almost everyone I’ve ever met before now has left in some way. All I’ve ever wanted in life is somewhere to call home and someone to call family. Now that I have both, I still can’t get over the fear that it’s all been another big mistake. No one’s ever wanted me. My own parents left me in a dumpster with no name.”

Bucky sucks in a deep breath at that. “I’m sorry,” he sympathizes. He squeezes Steve’s shoulder in comfort. “I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.”

Steve shrugs a little. “It’s not like I remember it,” he comments wryly.

“But it’s a part of who you are,” Bucky states without question, the gravity of his voice making Steve turn to him, eyes wide and wondering. “There’s no shame in that.” There’s still no judgement in his voice, only unspoken solidarity, daring Steve to believe him. Just like that, something inside of Steve unclenches. Yes, his past is a part of who he is, but maybe that’s all there is to it. Maybe he doesn’t have to hate the part of himself that hangs on to it. Just embrace it as fact and move on. It will always be there to influence his life, but maybe he can find a way to make it not control his fears. Steve breathes a quiet hum of revelation, warmth sparking deep inside.

“Thank you,” Steve says quietly. Bucky nods, but his throat bobs as though he’s trying to say something else. He doesn’t have to, Steve thinks, he’s already said enough. But Steve keeps his mouth shut to be polite.

“For what it’s worth,” Bucky starts eventually, catching Steve’s eyes and holding his gaze, “I think it’s pretty admirable that you’re still trying. Yes, you pull away from people because of your experience. Yes, it’s hard not to be afraid of everything slipping away again. But Steve, the fact that you’re here at all and conflicted about getting too close to everyone and feeling too comfortable means that some part of you still believes it’s possible to find what you’re looking for. Otherwise, what would be the point of even trying?” By the time Bucky is finished speaking, Steve is gaping at him in wonder, eyes a little damp. No one’s ever truly taken the time to validate his mess of emotions and past hurts turned present conflicts. Bucky doesn’t even know him. Not really. But somehow he also _does_.

They stare at each other for a few seconds too long, letting the depth of what’s been said and heard wash over them both. The dampness in his eyes don’t abate, but for once Steve thinks it’s okay to let someone see how he’s really feeling. There’s not really any words to voice his gratitude anyway; no words to describe how touched he is that Bucky would say those things. He ducks his head, face flushing.

“I don’t know what to say,” Steve murmurs. “Thank you, for saying all of that.” He peeks at Bucky and finds amusement in the gray-blue eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Bucky says. Then his voice takes on a teasing tenor, serious moment effectively passed. “But you can cry if you want to. I won’t judge.”

Steve mock glares despite how hot his face feels just about now. “I’m not going to cry, jerk.”

“Could’ve fooled me, punk,” Bucky retorts, waggling his eyebrows in an exasperated manner.

To his own surprise, Steve barks out a laugh at that. Then he laughs even more when Bucky’s eyes widen comically at the sudden sound. When he stops laughing, Bucky has a wide grin on his face and Steve’s whole being feels lighter than it has in days. It’s as if Bucky had said exactly what he’d needed to hear to get him out of his funk. Maybe this time his good mood will even last. At least, if the renewed sense of hope in his chest is anything to go by. He grins back tentatively.

“You’re deceptively easy to talk to, Bucky,” Steve says in lieu of saying thank you yet again.

Bucky grins smugly. This time, instead of wanting to punch him, Steve finds himself staring a full second too long. “It’s all part of my charm.” Rolling his eyes, Steve shoves at him with his shoulder. Not that Steve’s noticed over the past couple of weeks (of course not), but Bucky could actually be pretty charming. The girls, minus Natasha, in their school could definitely provide character references.

He changes the subject. Thankfully, the sun has disappeared from the horizon and twilight is settling over the world. “It’s getting late. I should probably get back.” Steve doesn’t wait for a response before standing up and dusting off his pants, groaning when his legs protest being in the same position for so long. Bucky doesn’t have that problem, of course, jumping to his feet easily. Steve has to tilt his head slightly to look up at Bucky. Man, some days he really envies the guys that are normal sized, not tiny like he is.

“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” Bucky says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Steve hesitates. “But it’s out of your way.”

“I don’t mind, really.” Bucky takes a couple of steps up the river bank. “Come on.”

Steve follows since he needs to head up there anyway. He pauses at the road. “Why are you being so nice? ” he asks suspiciously. His ears heat up when Bucky stares at him incredulously for a few seconds then sighs dramatically.

“Maybe I want to get to know the little guy who has one hell of a mean right hook and a temper to back it up. ” He laughs when Steve glares at him pointedly and scoffs in disbelief. “Come on, punk. I’m serious! I’d like to get to know you better. But if you really don’t want my wonderful company then I’ll just head off on my own.”

Steve squints at him in the dim light, making sure he’s not being duped. “Alright,” he acquiesces and can’t help but smile when Bucky grins his megawatt grin again. The taller boy hooks an arm around Steve’s shoulders so casually when they start walking it’s as if they're already best friends.

~o~

By the time they get to Sarah’s house, it’s fully dark. Bucky leaves him at the foot of the driveway. They’d made small talk on the way, Bucky talking about his family and three younger sisters fondly while Steve listened wistfully. His mom is apparently very good friends with Sarah (Steve files that away for later). Steve had talked a little about his time in foster care and at the share-home too. Though it’d been a little awkward at first since he’s never spoken with anyone about his experiences, he’d found his earlier statement upheld with ease. Bucky a little _too_ easy to talk to. That’s not necessarily a bad thing though. Standing at the foot of the driveway, Steve is rather reluctant to say goodbye. It’s...been unexpectedly enjoyable, getting to know Bucky. He’d hate for this to be a fluke, only possible because of his momentary vulnerability. 

At least Bucky seems to be on the same page. “So, can we be friends now?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice but sincerity in his eyes. 

Steve pretends to think about it. “I’d like that.” He smiles when Bucky crows happily like a dork. They grin stupidly at each other for a moment.

“Remember what I said, okay?” Bucky says as he takes a step back to leave. “Things will work out, you’ll see.” He wants to believe Bucky is right.

“Thanks, Bucky.” Bucky leaves after they bid each other goodnight. 

“This is real. There are people who want you here, who want to be your friends for as long as you’ll have them. I promise.” Bucky implores and Steve watches him go, a peculiar sense of longing within the walls surrounding his heart. He waits until Bucky disappears into the shadows beyond the reach of the outdoor lamps before turning to head up to the house. Bucky Barnes is...something else. He’d been so wrong about him.

When Steve makes it the rest of the way to the house, Sarah is there with dinner ready and a welcoming smile and comforting hug. Relieved and more settled than he’s felt in days, Steve smiles back and leans into the hug. Yeah. He’ll take another leap of faith and try to be okay, just enjoy and be grateful for how lucky he is to have found his way into this home. All his doubts can wait.


	9. Chapter 9

The next day at school, feels like a brand new beginning. Instead of the usual brief banter with Bucky, they actually talk to each other. Steve is actually kind of embarrassed about excited he’d been to get to school to see Bucky again, but no one has to know. On more than one occasion, Bucky taps Steve on the shoulder during class to whisper something funny in his ear. Several times, Steve almost gets them in trouble trying and failing to stifle his laughter. At lunch, Bucky invites him to sit with him and the other guys, and Steve doesn’t refuse. Natasha goes with him, and Steve is too happy with this new development to give much thought to the amused smirk she keeps giving him. Turns out, the other guys aren’t so bad either. They all joke around and tease Steve about his height, but it’s all in good humor to make up for the mocking they’d done that time Steve punched Bucky in the face. Steve actually doesn’t mind too much and laughs along. It’s their way of welcoming him into the circle and he’s too busy reveling in the idea of a whole group of friends to worry about his appearance anyway. Bucky sticks close to him the whole time and Steve wears a stupid smile on his face for a whole day. After school, Bucky offers to give him a ride home again, but Steve has to decline because he’d promised Natasha that he’d go over to her house to do homework together and meet her boyfriend, Clint. She gives him a knowing look when they leave together but doesn’t say anything. 

Each day after that is a similar story. Steve is excited to get to school each morning to see his new friends (not _just_ Bucky thank you very much), and each day at school is full of laughter and a new sense of belonging. Mr. Fury puts his foot down half way through the week and threatens to move Steve and Bucky to opposite sides of the room if they can’t stop whispering “smart-ass” comments to each other and their friends and fail at keeping their laughter quiet. He becomes part of their jokes after that. Even Natasha has joined in on the wise-cracks by the end of the week and it feels like the whole back of the classroom is suddenly uncontrollable. Steve hasn’t had so much fun in his life. They eat lunch together as a group every day and Steve can’t help but feel a little special when Bucky always sits next to him without fail when it’s so obvious that he’s the leader in the group of guys. Natasha doesn’t count as part of that group because she does whatever she pleases and no one can stop her. He also starts accepting Bucky’s offers to drive him home after school and always looks forward to the time they have together where it’s just the two of them. Steve tries not to read into it too much or anything. He’s just on cloud nine because somehow with each passing day it feels like Bucky feels more and more like the best friend that he’d been waiting for all along.

Natasha asks him about his sudden change in demeanor towards Bucky by the end of the week, a smug smile on her face. They’ve gotten close really fast apparently and she’s more than a little curious. Steve squints at her, but he’s come to accept that he’ll never be able to read her as well as she can read him. He shrugs nonchalantly. “I misjudged him,” he explains. “And it’s nice to have more friends.”

She nods knowingly. “But you won’t forget about me, right?”

“Of course not, Nat!” Steve says, offended. “You’re you and you were my friend first. It’s just Bucky is … different. Like, it feels like I’ve known him my whole life or something it’s so easy.” It’s not a very good explanation by any means and probably kind of insulting, but Natasha takes it in stride. There’s suddenly this gleam in her eye that makes Steve wary. She nods knowingly again and he gets the feeling that he’s missing something. But he won’t concern himself with it just yet.

~o~

Things only escalate from there. Pretty soon, Steve finds himself hanging out with Bucky all the time. He still goes on house calls with Sarah and helps out with the clinic, still makes time for Natasha and he sees Sam almost everyday for morning chores, but it feels like all his free time is spent with Bucky. He hopes Natasha and Sam don’t feel too abandoned. Occasionally he wonders if Bucky’s friends feel the same way. Bucky shows him all the best hangouts in town and they spend many afternoons and evenings together in one place or another. They go to the only movie theater in town and spend hours talking about the films they see. Sometimes they visit Thor’s cafe and spend hours doing homework side by side.

Bucky takes him to the beach and when Steve mentions that he doesn’t know how to swim, he takes it on himself to teach him. The water is slightly too cold at this time of the year, but Steve will stay in it until he turns blue just to have Bucky splashing in the water with him and yelling words of encouragement over the sound of the waves crashing ashore. The swimming lessons end when Steve has an asthma attack from the cold water. Bucky helps him through it (apparently one of his little sisters also has asthma so he’s had plenty of experience with it) but beats himself up about it for days after. He’s too careful around Steve and won’t stop despite Steve’s constant reassurance that he’s fine. It takes Steve punching him (not on the face this time but in the shoulder) hard enough to send him to the ground in a moment of frustration to get him to stop being so paranoid. Steve feels a little bad, but Bucky is fine, just surprised. Then, everything is alright again.

And it just feels so right. All of it. Every day they spend together brings them closer together. Bucky is easy to talk to, and Steve finds himself sharing many of the fears and hopes that he’s never told anyone about. Bucky does the same in return. Their conversations always feel safe, and they discuss everything and nothing, debating philosophies and musing about life while making small talk. They develop an understanding of each other as no one else knows them and it’s just so so easy. Steve would’ve never imagined meeting anyone with whom he’d develop such a fast and effortless friendship. He says as much to Bucky at one point, just an offhand comment to gauge his reaction. He doesn’t want to be that weird friend who feels too much. Bucky’s response is to sling an arm around his shoulder like he always does and reassures Steve that he feels the same way. Steve doesn’t doubt that he’s telling the truth, but there’s something else in Bucky’s eyes. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know what that something is. Or at least have an idea of what it could be. After all, Steve thinks he probably has it too. It’s just too soon to even think about it.

~o~

They’re in the big pasture behind Sarah’s house (it’s Steve’s house now, too, but he’s still working on wrapping his head around that) on a rare day when school gets cancelled for whatever reason . With no obligations until later in the evening, the two of them had spent the morning hanging out with everyone else before heading off on their own after lunch. There’s a big tree in the pasture and the space underneath its orange-gold leaves has become one of Steve’s favorite places in Brookside. He and Bucky have spent many afternoons under the canopy of its broad branches, relaxing and enjoying each other’s company, the sound of rustling leaves overhead at the passing of every gentle breeze. It’s like their own special spot, a haven away from the rest of the world. And it’s where they are now.

Steve shifts the sketchpad on his lap into a more comfortable position as he leans further against the weathered bark at his back. He grips his pencil a little tighter as he adds detail to the drawing he’s currently rendering, brow furrowing in concentration. Next to him, Bucky is asleep in the grass, a strand of hair falling into his face when another gust of cool air flows over them. Steve casts a fond glance over at his friend for just a moment, lips curling into a faint smile, before refocusing on his drawing. The scratching of his pencil against the paper is loud in the quiet of the empty pasture, but it’s familiar and comforting. He finishes the current drawing before long, signing and dating it once he’s satisfied with what he’d created. 

Stretching his arms over his head, Steve twists so that his back and shoulders pop before resettling against the tree. His butt is starting to get a little sore from sitting for so long, but Bucky is still asleep and he doesn’t really want to wake his friend just yet. Glancing around the pasture, Steve sees that it’s still relatively bright out despite the fact that it’s starting to get a little dim under the cover of the leaves. There’s a patch of sunlight nearby though, and since Bucky doesn’t seem like he’s gonna wake any time soon, Steve thinks he’ll just draw some more (he could draw for hours and hours on end and not get bored). He shifts so that his sketchpad is better illuminated, then flips to a fresh page, tapping his pencil against the edge of the pad as he considers what to draw next.

Inadvertently, his gaze drifts over to Bucky’s sleeping form, peaceful in the shade of the tree. Steve blushes slightly when he traces his eyes over the strong line of Bucky’s jaw and the slope of his nose; blushes even more when he finds himself admiring the long cast of Bucky’s eyelashes over the sharpness of his cheekbones. For a long moment, he can’t look away and subsequently has a mini freak-out in the back of his mind. Steve can’t admit it yet, but he’s pretty sure he’s developing a crush. Then, Bucky shifts minutely in his sleep and the spell is broken. Face flaming, Steve wrenches his gaze away and focuses on the blank page in front of him. His hand starts moving on its own accord over the paper and it doesn’t take long before a rough sketch of a figure sleeping in the grass starts to take shape. Steve pauses, biting his lip as he debates whether or not to continue drawing. He’s a little embarrassed, that much is for sure, but (he’s going to blame it on this) the artist in him can tell that this is going to turn out to be a good piece. So after only a brief moment of hesitation, his pencil starts scratching over the paper again. Steve forces his blush away by convincing himself to look at the drawing objectively as just a study of a sleeping figure and not his best friend who he may or may not find attractive. At least he’s pretty good at memorizing the details of a scene after seeing it so he doesn’t have to keep looking back at Bucky.

He’s so focused on his drawing, carefully rendering and capturing the details of the scene, that he doesn’t notice when Bucky wakes from his nap. The jerk doesn’t make a sound as he sits up. Or if he does, Steve is too engrossed to hear. “What `cha drawing, Stevie?” Bucky suddenly asks from _right next to him_ , making Steve jump a foot into the air as he slams the sketchpad shut on instinct. Face flaming anew, he looks up to find Bucky quietly laughing at him from where he’s sitting close. 

He glares. “Jeez, Buck, warn a guy next time will you? You scared the crap out of me!” Steve gripes. Bucky grins and throws his arms out in a gesture of innocence. 

“Hey, not my fault you didn’t hear me,” he laughs. Steve shoves him but Bucky only leans closer, obnoxious about it. “Come on, what were you drawing? Must be good if you were so focused!” 

“You don’t deserve to see it,” Steve says haughtily, hugging the sketchbook to his chest. Oh god, he’d die of mortification if Bucky knew he’d been drawing him. There’s no way he’s showing it to Bucky. No way. 

But Bucky pouts at him, and Steve hates that look on his face because it’s actually kind of effective. Sometimes. He thinks quickly. Bucky’s never seen anything in his sketchbook before. Which means he can show him any of his drawings and pretend that he’d been working on those when Bucky had startled him. Even better, he had a drawing from today to show. 

“Please?” Bucky weedles, just for added effect and Steve rolls his eyes at him. He’s trying hard not to laugh at the ridiculous expression on Bucky’s face so that he can pretend to be miffed. It’s a game they still like to play, the fake animosity and rivalry. Only it’s more fun now because they know each other so well. “Stevie, don’t be mean.” 

They’re on nickname-terms now, and Bucky uses it to his advantage because he knows Steve likes hearing it. No one else gets to call him that. Steve huffs indignantly, but can’t quite keep the fondness out of his voice. “You sound pathetic, you know.” Then relents after a few moments. He leafs through the pages in his sketchbook, angling it away from Bucky pointedly until he’s found the right page. He holds out the page for Bucky to see and only remembers too late that he’d been drawing the spot by the river where Bucky had found him so many weeks ago now. 

Bucky leans in closer to look at the drawing carefully, and the put-on obnoxious demeanor fades from his form. Steve watches him trace his eyes over the image over and over again, hoping that he’s not reading too much into it or anything. It’d just been one of those things that Steve had been meaning to draw since he’s been filling the sketchbook with scenes from around town that stick in his mind. When Bucky finally looks up from the drawing a few long moments later, Steve is taken aback by the wonder on his face. 

“This is amazing, Steve,” he says, genuinely impressed. “I didn’t know you were so good at drawing.” Steve ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck in embarrassment. Goddamn it, he’s blushing again. 

“Thanks,” he mutters. “It’s just something that I’ve always liked to do.”

“This is amazing,” Bucky repeats. “Can I see more?” 

Steve hesitates, pulling the sketchbook back closer to him. “I’ve never shown anyone my sketchbooks before,” he says. This is the sketchbook that he’d had on the train. The one that he’d drawn most of his imagined families and friends, the one that he’d poured his longing into over the years. In many ways, it’s like a journal in images.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to,” Bucky is quick to say. “I was just wondering. Don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Steve looks up at him and sees the honesty in Bucky’s face. He should be used to it by now. Bucky wouldn’t put him in a situation he isn’t comfortable in, and Steve has come to trust him more than anyone else. He thinks about all the things that they’ve talked about, and changes his mind.

“I know,” he says, and moves so that he’s sitting closer to Bucky. He flips the sketchbook open to the first page and offers it to the space between them. “You can look. I trust you.” Steve tries to be casual about it, but something in his voice must give away how meaningful this is.

It’s Bucky’s turn to hesitate. He catches Steve’s eyes. “I...Are you sure?” It only furthers Steve’s resolve. Steve nods firmly and Bucky takes the book from his hands, gentle as if it’s a precious thing. That makes something in Steve’s chest ache in a good way. “Just let me know if you don’t want me to see something, okay? I won’t try to look and I won’t judge.”

“Yeah.” They don’t say anymore as Bucky looks through the sketchbook, page by page. He makes a few comments here and there, but keeps quiet for the most part. Steve goes from looking at his own sketches to gazing unabashedly up at Bucky’s face as he takes in the drawings. He watches the myriad of minute expressions cross Bucky’s features and wonders once again how it is that he’s met someone like Bucky. The best friend he’s ever known and so kind and considerate and wonderful. If this continues, Steve has a slightly terrifying feeling that things will be very different soon. But he doesn’t, can’t look away. He’s equal parts drawn in by what he sees on Bucky’s face and fascinated by seeing someone’s reaction to such an important part of him for the first time (what he’d shown Sarah was different because those were pieces he’d picked out to show her). If Bucky notices him staring, he doesn’t say anything. 

Then, it’s as if the two of them are in a trance, a dreamlike state in which daylight is fast disappearing as the remnants of sunset are erased from the sky. The world becomes the two of them, beneath a giant tree, breathing quietly next to each other as the periodic sound of a page being turned is heard. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves overhead, bending the blades of grass and ruffling their hair, but neither pay it any mind. Steve speaks up before Bucky gets to the page with the half finished drawing of himself sleeping. True to his word, Bucky doesn’t comment or ask why he isn’t allowed to continue. He simply takes a deep breath and closes the sketchbook - reverently, Steve notices - before handing it back. He doesn’t make eye contact with Steve. Steve takes it carefully, and sets it carefully aside. A part of him almost wants to ask for Bucky’s thoughts, but speaking doesn’t feel right at the moment, so he keeps quiet. Watching and waiting to see what Bucky is going to do next. 

The brunet boy has a faraway look in his eyes as he sits and stares out at the pasture . It’s one that Steve doesn’t recognize, but he doesn’t feel discomforted by it, merely a curious. He waits patiently as Bucky gathers his thoughts, wondering what it is that’s made his friend so uncharacteristically quiet. He knows there’s some stuff in his sketchbook that he’d drawn with deep emotion, representations of some of his greatest hopes and deepest fears, but he wonders if Bucky had been able to pick up on those emotions merely by looking through the book. 

It seems like an eternity but also only a few seconds later, that Bucky pushes himself to his feet, startling Steve again with the movement. He holds out a hand for Steve to help him stand and Steve takes it without question. A heartbeat later, Steve finds himself enveloped in a tight embrace, his head tucked under Bucky’s chin and his lungs full of Bucky’s scent. Though momentarily surprised, Steve melts into the embrace as easily as anything, returning it with reverence. They stand like that for a long time, probably too long to be proper between two friends, but neither of them care. Like seemingly everything else with them, it feels right and natural, all it needs to be. And though he’d never imagined he’d be welcoming of such a thought, Steve feels safe, protected from the world. It’s nice.

Eventually, Bucky lets out a long sigh, arms holding Steve just a little bit tighter. Steve thinks he feels a cheek press briefly to the top of his hair, but doesn’t move away, maybe presses himself closer to Bucky’s warmth. “You’re here now,” Bucky says softly, and a shiver runs through Steve’s body.

~o~

For a few days after that day in the pasture, it’s Steve’s turn to walk on eggshells around Bucky. They don’t talk about it, don’t talk about the intensity of the emotions that had somehow manifested by virtue of Steve sharing the most private thing in his life. Though Bucky’s reaction had been generally positive - and just a little overwhelming in hindsight - the part of Steve that’s forever full of doubt is convinced that Bucky’s going to disappear now. Bucky had seen some of the most vulnerable parts of Steve that day, and while Steve isn’t sure how much Bucky truly understood from his drawings, he’s sure that anyone who’d seen those parts of him would run for the hills. Of course, Bucky isn’t just anyone, but Steve wouldn’t blame him for leaving. So he tiptoes around their friendship while being careful not to let himself be too obvious about it. He doesn’t want to be the ruin of a good thing, of course not, but he’s half afraid of seeing it crumble anyway.

It doesn’t.

And Bucky realizes what he’s doing far sooner than Steve would expect - he should know better by now. He feels a sense of deja-vu when he finds himself being cornered by an angry and frustrated Bucky. It’s exactly reminiscent of when Steve had confronted him about treating him like he was fragile. This time, their roles are reversed.

Though Bucky doesn’t punch him, he does grab Steve by the shoulders and attempt to shake him into seeing sense. “Stop it, Steve!” Oh, and he yells too. “We’ve come so far, don’t you dare withdraw into yourself now. Don’t you dare.” Steve gapes at him, wide eyed, shocked at hearing Bucky yell. His brain works to find words and his mouth opens, but nothing comes out. How...

“I know you!” Bucky rants, eyes hard and hurt, and Steve hates himself a little for it. “I know what you’re doing. You’re pulling away to protect yourself because you think I’m gonna run for the hills now that I’ve seen that sketchbook of yours. You’re still burdened by that fear!” 

That’s...scarily accurate. Steve pulls himself out of Bucky’s grasp, takes a step back, and tilts his head back to study the frustrated expression on Bucky’s face, mouth clenching unhappily. He feels guilty for being the one to put it there. Bucky’s arms remain suspended in the air for a few moments before he drops them with a sigh. He sounds tired. “But guess what, Steve, I’m not running and you’re not going to make me.” 

Steve’s not going to make him run, though. He’s learning that he can be selfish. He’s learning that he might just _need_ Bucky in his life despite everything. Echoing Bucky’s sigh with his own, Steve looks up and holds Bucky’s gaze. “You know me,” he affirms quietly, and watches the frustration on Bucky’s face melt away to relief.

And things are okay again. Better than okay, even.


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky invites Steve over to his house for dinner several days later. It’s another one of those things that Steve has never experienced in his life. He doesn’t really know what to expect, and he spends too long thinking about all the different ways this could go wrong. He knows he’s overthinking again – it’s just a dinner at his friend’s house – but he can’t help it. It’s just, he’s got this new little problem that he’s not quite sure how to deal with (he’ll add it to his list of 101 things Steve Rogers has never experienced)… and this dinner thing just made him realize how screwed he is.

His attraction to Bucky has been steadily growing as they continue to get closer. Now that Bucky has proven himself over and over again to be the best friend that Steve doesn’t think he deserves, there’s no denying that he’s starting to feel something even beyond just friendship. That little thing in the back of his mind that he’d been burying all this time is finally starting to spill over. The more Steve pays attention, the more he realizes just how handsome Bucky is, and how he’s just as good inside as he is out. Or maybe it’s that he’s just as good outside as he is inside. Either way, Steve feels himself teetering on the edge of a very slippery slope.

He doesn’t know if Bucky feels remotely close to the same way. From what he sees in the mirror every day, Steve would say no – because how could someone as charming and amazing as Bucky have any interest in little old him. But there’d been moments where Steve would catch Bucky watching him, an unreadable expression on his face, and Steve would think _maybe_ , just maybe. 

It’s the proverbial elephant in the room. With every day that passes, it seems to loom more and more in the spaces around them. They flirt with each other on and off, but always pass it off as a joke or friendly teasing. One of these days, though, the elephant in the room is going to be unavoidable, too much to ignore. Steve doesn’t know if he’s quite ready for that day to come just yet. It’s not that he doesn’t want it, just that it’s such a foreign thing and he’s only just started fully believing in the solidity of their friendship. So until then, Steve is content to continue as they have been; standing too close and sitting pressed together, He knows, too, that they’re more touchy-feely than most close friends are, often pushing and shoving each other more than necessary just for that point of contact. Not to mention how Bucky always seems to have an arm around his shoulders, sometimes his back, and Steve has made a habit of leaning into him all the time, sometimes with his head on Bucky’s shoulder. To him, it just feels like such a natural thing. In light of all of this, how is Steve supposed to _not_ overthink what’s most likely a simple dinner at his best friend’s house? Bucky would probably laugh if he knew how much thought Steve has put into this one simple invite. 

Thankfully, Natasha seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to Steve and comes to his rescue. He’s outside sitting on the old porch swing, pretending to draw while freaking out when she shows up out of the blue and scares the crap out of him (totally on purpose). She has the good grace not to laugh outright when Steve falls off the swing, landing unceremoniously on the wooden deck, his sketchbook tumbling from his lap. The snort that she muffles into her hand isn’t all that different from a laugh though. Steve’s face is flaming when he glares up at her, but she isn’t looking at him. Instead, he realizes with horror, she’s staring at where his sketchbook has oh-so-conveniently landed and opened to a page where he’d been absently sketching studies of Bucky’s face. Steve throws himself across the floor on instinct and snatches the sketchbook to his chest, curling around it protectively. He hopes his sketches aren’t very good, at least unrecognizable. His face is on fire and he wants to crawl in a hole and die. He takes a few deep breaths.

Steve tries to maintain some semblance of dignity when he gets up from the ground, but he can barely meet Natasha’s eyes. One glance at the amused and more than interested smirk on her face and he wants to die all over again. Natasha doesn’t waste any time getting to the point. “Alright, Steve,” she says, smug, “spill”. She grins wryly at her own joke and hops up to sit on the railing of the porch effortlessly. 

Despite knowing he can’t actually hide anything from Natasha for too long, Steve still makes an attempt at innocence. “Spill what?” he asks, trying to sound casual. He hugs his sketchbook a little closer while trying to not be too obvious about it. 

Natasha gives him a look that very clearly says, “Why do you even try.” It’s all she needs to do for Steve to sink helplessly into the porch swing at his back. He’ll try not to fall out of it this time. His mouth works as he tries to figure out what exactly he wants to say. Where does he even start? He hasn’t even put everything into words in his own head yet. 

In the moments that pass, what comes out is, “Bucky invited me over for dinner.” And yeah, the blush is not fading from Steve’s face anytime soon. Especially not when Natasha is cocking her eyebrow at him like that; like she knows something he doesn’t but she’s gonna make him say it anyway. 

“And?” Natasha inquires after a pause. Steve shrugs and looks away from the smugness on her face. “Dinner is common between friends. I don’t know why you seem so on edge about it.” She’s definitely teasing him. Any other day, Steve would retaliate, but she’s right as always, he’s on edge. His brain is too busy worrying about the dinner to adequately defend himself. 

Come to think of it though, he’s not completely sure either. There’s just this flutter in his stomach that he can’t quell. It has something to do with certain feelings, of course, but pinpointing it is the hard part. Harder still, is trying to tell that to Natasha without actually telling her. Especially since he’s pretty sure she can see right through him anyway. “I...I’ve never been invited to dinner at anyone’s house before,” he says. It’s true, and probably part of the problem anyway. 

Natasha gives him a sympathetic look, but it’s overtaken by shining curiosity all too soon. “There’s more to it than that.” She doesn’t even bother to phrase it as a question, leveling him with another look that has him trying not to squirm. Steve meets her eyes and hopes he doesn’t look as much like a deer-in-headlights as he feels. 

“I’m just afraid that I’m going to ruin it or something by wearing the wrong thing or saying the wrong thing,” he tries, hoping that she’ll just leave it at that and maybe help him somehow. She doesn’t seem satisfied by his answer, but gives him a long, considering look instead of pressing further. Unable to do anything but wait, Steve glances down at himself and forces his grip around the sketchbook to loosen. The sound of a pair of feet lightly hitting the wooden deck makes him look up a moment later. Natasha is standing before him, hand outstretched.

“Come on,” she says, and pulls him to his feet. “The dinner is tonight, right?” 

“In an hour,” Steve sighs, and Natasha promptly proceeds to drag him into the house and up to his room. She’s been over often enough to know her way around. She sits him on the bed and immediately starts going through his closet. 

“Nat-” he starts when she throws an outfit in his lap and gestures for him to change.

She cuts him off. “Trust me,” she reassures him. He sighs and looks at the clothes in his lap. The blue shirt is one that she’d picked out for him when they went shopping a couple of weeks ago. She’s paired it with a pair of dark wash skinny jeans that are also relatively new. He ducks into his bathroom to change, and spends a few seconds appreciating Natasha’s judgement in the mirror. He looks put together, but not like he’s trying to impress (he’s not, right?). Most importantly, he doesn’t look like he’s been overthinking this whole thing. It’s at least alleviated one of his worries. He owes Natasha one.

Natasha is waiting for him in his room. She looks him up and down with an appraising eye the moment he steps in, nodding with satisfaction when she likes what she sees. “Tell me one thing,” she says, standing up from the bed and approaching him with a knowing look. Steve braces himself to whatever she’s going to ask. “Does this have to do with your drawings?” 

Not trusting himself to say anything, Steve can only nod in resignation. Though he’s not sure exactly how much Natasha has guessed, he hopes Natasha isn’t too put off by this or anything. The fact that she seems to be more amused than anything is a good sign. To prove it, she pats his cheek with a wry smirk. “Thought so,” she teases. “Don’t worry, I won’t say a thing.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, half cheeky and half sincere. Once he’s deemed ready, he follows her down the stairs and out the door, pausing only to make sure that he’s left a note for Sarah about where he’s going. Natasha’s car is parked out front and she pushes him toward the passenger side. 

“I’m driving you,” she states and Steve gets in the car without a word. He’s going to be late if he walks anyway. It’s a good thing Natasha is being so nice. She doesn’t tease him or anything the whole drive over, only chatting to ease the ball of nervousness in his stomach. Steve tries to contribute to the conversation as much as he can, but the closer they get to Bucky’s the less he’s able to formulate coherent sentences. It’s a little ridiculous, he’ll admit, getting so worked up...but he really can’t help it. He keeps telling himself to calm down, but his body refuses to listen. 

When they pull up to Bucky’s house, Natasha takes one look at him and grins like a Cheshire cat.“Calm down, Steve, it’s just a dinner.” Steve wants to tell her that her grin doesn’t exactly put him at ease, but doesn’t get the chance to. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the front door of the house open before Bucky is there waving. The sight of his best friend immediately, miraculously, eases his nervousness and he feels absolutely like an idiot for having gotten worked up in the first place.

“Thanks for the help and the ride, Nat,” Steve says as he unbuckles his seatbelt. Hopefully Natasha didn’t catch his sudden change in mood. 

Not likely, but one can hope. 

“Of course,” she comments coolly despite the teasing lilt coloring her voice. The grin that had been on her face gets replaced by her patented smirk and Steve scrambles to get out of the car out of self preservation. He’s not fast enough. He’s got one foot out of the car when she gets his attention with a hand on his arm, effectively making him look back at her. “Hey, Steve,” she says and makes a point of gazing past him to where Bucky is coming down the driveway, all long legs and undeniably charming smile. As Steve stares wide-eyed at her, her eyes roam up and down Bucky’s body in blatant, exaggerated appreciation. “I understand,” she whispers melodramatically, then snickers in delight when Steve promptly splutters, “Nat!” and turns bright red. 

She shoos him out of the car, still laughing, and he has no choice but to go. He makes a mental note to get her back later when Bucky’s eyebrows rise in response to the obvious blush on his face.

~o~

Dinner with the Barnes family turns out to be a lot more fun than Steve had expected. George and Winnie, Bucky’s parents, take to him immediately, welcoming him with open arms and too-tight hugs. They’re tall, both of them, and they make Steve feel like a dwarf in comparison. Right off the bat, he can see that Bucky gets his gentle soul from his father and his god-given grace and charm from his mother. Bucky’s little sisters -Becca, Mary, and Annie, ages nine, eight, and seven - are beyond adorable, and they both latch onto Steve the moment he sets foot in the house. All the Barnes siblings have the same dark brown hair and big eyes, obviously having hit the genetic lottery in Steve’s opinion.

There’s uproarious laughter from everyone around when the girls start asking him all sorts of questions and ask if he’s willing to play dress up because Bucky won’t. Too polite to refuse, Steve can only take the questioning with grace and a make vague agreement to be their “dress-up doll” sometime (he’s so out of his element it’s terrifying). He keeps giving Bucky wide-eyed pleas for help whenever the girls aren’t looking, but Bucky only laughs at him. Eventually, though, Bucky takes pity and diverts the girls’ attention to something else with the promise that Steve will draw pretty portraits of them if they leave him alone for now. Steve punches him lightly in the shoulder for that, but he’s too relieved to actually care too much. That leads to them roughhousing for a bit before being called to dinner. 

Steve’s mouth drops open when he takes in the sight of the sheer amount of food on the table. It’s as if they’d prepared a feast just for the occasion and jeez, they really didn’t have to. He’s actually kind of stunned when Bucky steers him to one of the seats. Winnie takes a look at the expression on his face and chuckles merrily. “Hope you’re hungry, Steve. There’s plenty of food.”

“I can see that,” he comments numbly, and feels his ears heat when she laughs at the response. He quickly backpedals. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude.” 

She waves her hand dismissively. “No, no, you’re fine!” Then she gestures to the food. “Go ahead, don’t be shy.” Steve looks around the table and sees that everyone has already started plating their food, matching smiles on all their faces. Bucky helps him out by passing him a large bowl of salad.

“Come on, punk,” he says conspiratorially, lips tilted up in a bright smile that Steve has to force himself not to stare at. “It’s Mom’s mission in life to stuff people full of delicious food. Better to just go along with it.” Winnie tosses a bread roll at Bucky for that, surprising a laugh out of Steve and immediately putting him at ease. Later, he’ll realize that that’d been Bucky’s intent all along and he’ll give Bucky one of his unconsciously besotted, grateful smiles. When Bucky smiles back indulgently, they both miss the meaningful look that Winnie and George share.

By the end of dinner, Steve begins to understand what it means to be a part of a big, loving family. The fact that it’s Bucky’s family probably colors his view a bit, but it’s not like he has anything to compare it to. What’s more important is that somehow, this goes hand in hand with him sliding a little further down that that slippery slope he’s trying to find purchase on.

~o~

The Barnes’ dinner ultimately makes Steve’s little situation worse. His little crush is turning out to be a major crush. Now that he’s seen how Bucky is with his family, he can’t help but be a little more enamored by everything that is his best friend. It’s not something that he’s ever thought about, but in retrospect it makes a lot of sense that Steve would see good relationship with family as a big plus. Unfortunately, every revelation is making it harder and harder to continue ignoring his feelings and he becomes preoccupied with worrying about it. He really doesn’t want to ruin this friendship by saying something and having Bucky respond negatively. But he also doesn’t know how much longer he’s going to be able to keep it secret until he does something and gives himself away. It’s not like he’s had any experience with something like this and so he’s really just stumbling blindly and hoping for the best.

Inevitably, Sarah notices how preoccupied he seems to be. In Steve’s defense, he really tries to not let the latter show, but as he should really know by now, Sarah can read him even better than Natasha can. Unlike Natasha, though, she doesn’t tease him about it. Only casually asks him about Bucky even though Steve totally knows what she’s doing. At first, he considers playing the innocence card again, but he already knows it’d be fruitless. 

“Bucky’s good,” he says, sounding as casual as he possibly can, “we’ve been hanging out a lot.”

Sarah nods in understanding. “I’ve noticed. You guys are fine now, huh? Funny how things change.” She’s watching him carefully, eyes with all the warmth he’s gotten used to. It makes him want to spill everything, but he _can’t_. 

“He’s the best friend I’ve ever had,” Steve imparts, meaning every word. He blushes, but doesn’t stop himself from saying more. “It’s stupid...some days I feel like I’ve been waiting for a friend like him my whole life. And now....” he trails off, not knowing how to continue.

When it becomes clear he’s not going to continue, Sarah makes a show of choosing her next words carefully, and it’s not the question that Steve had expected to hear. “Joseph was the best friend I’ve ever had,” she says finally, and Steve wonders if she’s managed to guess what he hasn’t said just like that. Then, “Do you remember what I told you?”

Steve nods without thinking. He knows exactly what she’s referring to. The thought has also been on his mind more often than not lately. If anything, it’s another one of his main reasons for trying to suppress all this emotion. He’s more than a little afraid of finding his own version of Sarah’s story and having a similar ending.

“I just… I don’t know if it’s even possible....” he tries, but trails off again. “What if it’s not supposed to be?”

Thankfully, Sarah seems to understand what he’s trying to convey. She doesn’t say it directly, probably to preserve his privacy, but Steve knows she gets it. “That’s the way these things go,” she assures him gently, “it’s never certain until you’re there, and even then you can never truly know if it’ll be everything or nothing. It takes more than a little courage to try, and faith to believe in the present.”

Steve considers this. 

“I know you’re brave enough to try if you want to,” Sarah tells him earnestly, her brown eyes imploring. “Don’t let your past bar you from something that could be really good. Take the leap of faith and remember what I said. Even if it doesn’t go the way you want, and it isn’t supposed to be, you’ll at least know.”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve says thickly, swallowing loudly. Sarah holds out her arms and Steve doesn’t hesitate in leaning in gratefully, taking comfort in her silent display of support.


	11. Chapter 11

The second to the last week of school before it adjourns for an extended break passes by way faster than Steve would’ve ever thought possible. Though the coming week is full of final projects and exams, the general air of excitement in the air is tangible. Apparently the Starks will be arriving sometime within the coming week and as is tradition, they’ve been flying over massive crates full of ready-made costumes, accessories, and novelty items for the upcoming party. Steve hasn’t been over to the little “shop” just yet, but from what he hears, there’s some good stuff coming in for this year’s theme.

After school, Bucky drives him home as usual. They haven’t had the chance to see each other much outside of school since the dinner for various reasons so Steve’s glad that this one thing has stayed the same. The moment he gets in the car, though, he can sense that something is different- not in a bad way, but different. There’s a new layer to the usual comfortable camaraderie that always exists between them. It’s as if the air in the car is thicker somehow, harder to breathe in. Steve’s heart immediately begins to race, and he glances at Bucky to see if his friend feels it too. He does, and there’s a tense set to his shoulders that Steve isn’t used to seeing. Their eyes lock in that brief moment and something electrifying passes between them. Stupidly, the first thought that crosses Steve’s mind is that this is where it ends. Somehow he’s given himself away and this is where he’s going to get kicked to the dirt.

It doesn’t happen though.

Instead, Bucky shakes his head a little, breaking them both out of whatever had just happened. His shoulders relax minutely. The smile on his face, then, is familiar and helps bring Steve down a notch from his near panic. He takes a breath and smiles back bravely when Bucky shifts the car into gear. Okay, they’re not going to talk about it. Crisis averted.

“Do you have anything going on today?” Bucky asks as they get onto the road. He sounds perfectly normal, and yeah, the thickness in the air is definitely dissipating. It still takes Steve a second to realize he’s being asked a question.

“I promised Sarah I would clean the barn,” he says. “Why?”

Bucky shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a bit of tension in his shoulders that Steve doesn’t miss. “We haven’t seen each other much is all,” he explains, glancing at Steve quickly before looking back at the road. He sounds a little odd, but Steve still has to try and contain the rush of relief and joy at hearing those words (oh man, he has it bad), but can’t quite stop the grin that spreads across his face. He tries for teasing. “What, you miss me, Buck?”

There’s a beat of silence where Steve is afraid he’s said the wrong thing because Bucky tenses up again. Or maybe his teasing tone hadn’t sounded as playful as he’d been going for. “Maybe I do,” Bucky says softly, his mouth twitches as if he can’t decide whether to smile or frown. Steve is momentarily speechless. 

“Uh,” he starts. They’re at a stoplight and Steve takes the chance to get a good look at Bucky’s face. Gray-blue eyes flick to him briefly, but Bucky keeps his gaze ahead. It’s enough, though. Steve has seen what he’d been unwittingly looking for. There’s unease in Bucky’s eyes, and Steve doesn’t want to be too presumptuous but he has a guess as to why. Seems like the elephant in the room has only grown more this past week. The problem is, he doesn’t know if this is the right time to address it. He doesn’t know if he’s brave enough to speak up first just yet. “If you have time you can stay for a bit. I shouldn’t be too long.” 

“I’ll help you with the barn,” Bucky decides.

Steve cringes a little. “Okay”. He knows his response had been a cop out, but Bucky’s too nice to call him out on it. They don’t really say much after that and Steve spends the rest of the car ride berating himself for being too chicken to say that he’d missed Bucky too. The tension is back between them and it’s the worst thing. It wasn’t even like this when those first few weeks. They’re not supposed to be this awkward. Especially not when they finally have the chance to hang out for a bit. Steve wants to throw something, or dive for his inhaler. He fights off the urge until they get to the house, then he’s rummaging around in his bag for the little device. Bucky notices immediately.

“Oh shit, Stevie!” he exclaims, putting the car in park. “Shit, I’m sorry. Crap, this is totally my fault. I’m sorry!” He rubs Steve’s back as Steve takes two puffs from the inhaler and breathes carefully. Once it’s clear that he’s managed to stop the attack before it’d happened, he shakes his head at Bucky.

“Not your fault,” he says firmly. He takes a few more deep breaths before fully looking at Bucky. The brunet’s eyes are still bright with concern. Steve huffs at that. “Jeez, Buck, don’t look like that. I’m fine.”

Bucky blinks, then pinches the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. “Right, sorry.” Then he lets out an amused snort and shoves at Steve. “Told you to not scare me like that, punk.”

“Can’t help it if you’re easily scared, jerk,” Steve retorts. He grins in relief when Bucky laughs and shrugs helplessly. And just like that, the awkwardness between them is suddenly gone. 

They grin at each other for another moment before getting out of the car. Bucky hooks an arm around him as they head toward the house. Steve leans in happily and they walk into the house pressed together as they always do, laughing as they take a few more jabs at each other. In the house, Bucky waits at the bottom of the stairs when Steve runs upstairs to drop off his stuff. There’s a wistful smile on his face when Steve comes back down the stairs and he’s looking at Steve like he’s something precious. It makes Steve suddenly feel hot all over. His face is flaming by the time he gets to the last couple of steps. “I really did miss you,” Bucky says quietly, there’s a furrow to his brow as if he’s afraid of how Steve is going to respond this time.

Well, Steve learned his lesson back in the car. He comes to a stop on the last step, directly in front of Bucky. They’re more or less of the same height this way and Steve can actually look Bucky in the eyes without having to tilt his face up. He’s determined to be brave this time. “I missed you too, Buck,” he murmurs, voice soft and genuine, and it hits him how much it feels like an understatement. It’s a little ridiculous since it’s not like they haven’t seen each other at school everyday, but Steve supposes it’s different when it’s just the two of them. He _really_ has it bad. 

A different sort of tension infuses the space between them. Bucky is staring at him, expression open and vulnerable, and Steve can’t look away from the intensity in those eyes. He swallows thickly. “Buck-” 

“Stevie,” Bucky says at the same time, cutting him off, his tone enough to steal the breath from Steve’s lungs. “Tell me if I’m reading this wrong.” Steve feels his mind go blank. Unconsciously, he leans forward as Bucky does the same. A warm palm presses gently against the side of his face, guiding him forward, and Steve doesn’t pull away even as his heart races in his chest. His eyes flutter closed and - 

A sudden commotion outside make both of them jump. Bucky scrambles backwards just as Steve trips on the step and lands hard on the stairs. Not a second later, Sarah bursts through the door, looking a little frazzled. She takes in the sight of them, Steve on his butt on the stairs and Bucky a couple of steps away, both with wide-eyed with bewilderment, and doesn’t blink an eye. “Sorry for interrupting boys,” she pants, rushing for the clinic door. “Steve, I need you to come with me right now. Mrs. Maximoff is having her twins and I’m going to need your help.” She disappears into the clinic before Steve has the chance to respond.

Steve blinks after her, mouth working, then looks at Bucky. He blushes when his brain catches him up with the last couple of minutes. There’s a bit of color high on Bucky’s cheeks too. Then he realizes that they’re not going to get to hang out after all. What terrible timing! “Bucky, I -” he says, a little dazed.

“Steve!” Sarah commands when she breezes back out of the clinic and out the door, “come on!” The tone of her voice makes Steve scramble after her on autopilot. 

“Bucky, I’m sorry!” he apologizes on his way out. He stops abruptly when Bucky reaches out and pulls him back. Steve finds himself plastered to Bucky’s front with one of Bucky’s arms around his waist. “Buck?” he asks uncertainly, leaning back a little to look up at Bucky’s face. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky says, “I just... We need to talk about this okay?”

Steve doesn’t have to ask for clarification. They’ve finally reached the breaking point. He nods in agreement and makes to pull away, but Bucky once again traps him with his eyes. Then Bucky is leaning down and brushing a barely there kiss to the corner of his lips. “Go on,” Bucky whispers in his ear and lets him go, shoving him toward the door for good measure. It’s a good thing he does because Steve would’ve been frozen in place otherwise. Even still, it takes Sarah honking her horn at him to get him to hurry to the car. Thankfully, Sarah is too distracted to make any comments.

The ghost of Bucky’s lips on his face remains all throughout the night. Steve’s kind of thankful that witnessing and helping with childbirth for the first time keeps a permanent and understandable blush on his face so no one’s the wiser.

~o~

By the time the twins are born, it’s some ungodly hour where the sun’s barely peeking out. By the time Sarah and Steve make it home, it’s well into morning and the sun is bright in the sky. Thankfully, it’s the beginning of the weekend and they have nowhere to be. Sarah sends Steve off to bed, thanking him and praising him for how well he handled everything overnight. Too tired to say much of anything, Steve gives her a hug and drags himself up stairs to shower and fall into bed. He’s out the moment he hits the pillow, and thanks his lucky stars that for making him so tired that he’s able to do so. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep otherwise since certain thoughts about last afternoon are still very much active in his head.

~o~

When Steve wakes up later, it’s after noon and the house is quiet. His stomach grumbles for not having been fed since last night, but he stays in bed for a little longer, staring blankly at the ceiling. Now that the adrenaline has faded and his thoughts are no longer fuzzy with simultaneous shock and excitement, he can actually think about what’s going to happen next. Clearly, his hunch had been right and Bucky does at the very least share the same type of feelings for him as he does for Bucky (how, Steve can’t even fathom, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth). Now, it’s a matter of deciding where they go from here. Steve would be lying if he said the possibilities didn’t scare the crap out of him. But he’d also be lying if he said he didn’t want to at least try. He’s thought about Sarah’s advice a lot over the past week or so and has come to the conclusion that she’s right. He’d rather take a leap of faith than sit and wonder in fear. 

Another loud rumble from his stomach has him begrudgingly levering himself out of bed. He makes his way down the stairs to the kitchen and finds a note from Sarah saying that she’d gone out to see a few more patients and that she won’t be back for dinner. Apparently Sam has also already taken care of chores for the day. Feeling grateful, Steve sets the note aside and opens the fridge to find something to eat. Though it’s way past lunch time, he decides on a bowl of cereal and an apple because they’re easy fixes. He settles himself at the table and doodles absently as he eats. The doorbell rings just as he finishes putting the dishes away. Steve runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. There’s no doubt in his mind who’s at the door.

Sure enough, when he pulls open the door, Bucky is there, charming smile on his face but uncharacteristic nervousness in his eyes. “Hey there, Stevie,” Bucky says, trying for casual but failing spectacularly. Steve grimaces at the awkwardness of the situation, holding onto the door with one hand to ground himself.  
“Hey, Buck,” he responds carefully, searching Bucky’s face for any clues as to how to proceed. Half of him wants to just throw himself at Bucky, but the other half is frozen in place. They stare at each other for several heartbeats before looking away, faces red. Bucky shuffles nervously on his feet while Steve feels sweat starting to gather at his hairline. What a pair they make. 

“So about yesterday -” Steve starts the same moment Bucky blurts: “Are you free tonight?” 

Steve blinks in embarrassment at Bucky and Bucky blinks back. Then Bucky starts laughing and Steve’s mouth drops open. Only a moment passes before he’s giggling along. Pretty soon, they’re both bent over, laughing hysterically. 

Bucky claps him hard on the back and Steve chokes on his breath for the briefest moment before doubling over again. “Oh my god,” Bucky snorts, “this is so ridiculous. We’re so much better than this. We’re _us_.” He pulls himself mostly together and crowds Steve back into the house. Steve goes willingly, still giggling like a madman. Bucky huffs fondly and shoves him towards the stairs. “Let’s try this again,” he says, trying not to collapse into laughter again.

High from laughter, Steve looks between Bucky and the stairs behind him twice before hopping up onto the first step. He’s still giggling intermittently when he opens his mouth and blurts out the first thing on his mind. “You trying to be romantic, Bucky?” There’s a moment of stunned silence when Steve’s eyes widen in horror at his own words. But then he sees the color rise in Bucky’s face and he’s off again, laughing hysterically at the whole situation. How his life has gotten to this point he has no idea. Apparently his laughter is contagious because Bucky is back at it right along with him. 

“Oh my god,” it’s Steve’s turn to say. He takes a few calming breaths through his nose out through his mouth. “I’m sorry, what were you going to say?” Bucky is standing in front of him, the same way he had yesterday. Steve ignores the sense of deja-vu to return Bucky’s grin. It’s a much better sight than Bucky’s nervousness. Everything is going to be okay, he’s certain of it.

“You little punk,” Bucky murmurs affectionately and Steve punches him as is customary between them. That’s something he thinks he’ll come to learn. Just because they’re on the brink of something new doesn’t mean all the good they’ve already built has to change. 

“What?” Steve’s grin turns a little shy when Bucky’s eyes search his face, bright with care. 

“Well, a little bird told me there’s going to be a meteor shower tonight. I was wondering if you’d want to go see it together. I know the perfect spot.” Bucky is still a little nervous, Steve can tell. 

Steve takes a moment for that to sink in, then ducks his head bashfully. He looks up at Bucky through his eyelashes, blushing again, more than a little shy even though he’d known this was coming. “Are you asking me on a date, Buck?” he asks, then smiles wider to put Bucky at ease. They both know the answer and he’s only teasing after all.

Bucky plays along. “Unless there’s another tiny blond with a mean right hook around here, yes.”

“Jerk.”

“You know it.” Bucky sighs in exaggeration as if put upon and puts his hands on his hips. He tilts his head playfully and smirks for added effect, “So what do you say?” Honestly, they both know the answer to this question too.

Steve pretends to consider, but can’t contain his grin long enough for it to maintain the look. “Okay.” 

They both laugh when Bucky tugs him close and lifts him entirely off his feet in excitement.


	12. Chapter 12

Turns out, seeing the meteor shower isn’t the _only_ thing that Bucky had planned. They’re an hour out of town, parked in a small lot at the start of a trail that Bucky says is one of his favorites around. Steve stares, slack-jawed, when Bucky opens the trunk of his car and lifts out a giant cooler, groaning quietly with the effort. “We’re going on a picnic too?” Steve has to ask. His stomach is excited, having only had cereal all day. But when he peers cautiously into the cooler he wishes he hadn’t. “Jeez, Buck, were you trying to pack for a week or feed a whole army?”

Bucky shrugs helplessly. “Mom insisted on filling the thing.” Steve looks at him in horror at the implication of that sentence. “I only told her we’re going on a picnic, don’t worry.” If Winnie’s sixth sense is anything like Sarah’s, Steve is definitely worried, but he nods anyway. It’s not like there’s anything he could do about it. Bucky reaches back into the trunk and pulls out a large blanket and a backpack which he shoulders with a grunt. The sight of it makes Steve chuckle incredulously. How is this even his life? Bucky slams the back of his car shut and throws the folded blanket at Steve. To his embarrassment, Steve actually stumbles a little under the unexpected weight. He pretends to glare accusingly to disguise the moment. 

“That’s what you get for laughing at me, punk,” Bucky sniffs haughtily, but breaks into a grin when Steve rolls his eyes. He indicates a path that Steve has just now noticed. It disappears into a small forest. “Come on. It’s a 20 minute walk down this trail. 30 with this giant thing.” He gives it an experimental tug and frowns when it’s clearly heavier than he wants it to be.

Steve laughs. “I seriously don’t understand how your mom expects us to eat all that.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Bucky assures him. “Like I said, she’s always trying to shove food at people. We’ve all gotten used to it.” 

“It’s a wonder how you keep your figure,” Steve comments wryly, laughing some more when Bucky pointedly pushes him toward the trail. He goes without much resistance, cheeky grin in place. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Yeah yeah,” Bucky says, dragging the cooler behind him, “I’ve noticed you looking, mister. Don’t think I haven’t.” 

Aside from the ever present blush on his face, Steve holds onto his dignity by throwing Bucky’s words back at him. “Well, same goes for you,” he quips over his shoulder, and uses the advantage of having the lighter load to dodge the headlock Bucky tries to get him in.

~o~

The walk to Bucky’s spot continues in a similar fashion after that. They tease and rough-house the whole way there and it’s really no different than how they’ve always been. There’s just more intentional flirting thrown into the mix. That and an undeniable undercurrent of exhilaration and anticipation for this new and uncharted aspect of their friendship.

True to Bucky’s word, they reach their destination in half an hour or so. Even with the dawning twilight stealing most of the brightness out of their surroundings, the little clearing that Bucky leads them to is breathtaking. They’re a little ways off the main trail and beyond the last line of trees is a secluded patch of grass that drops off into the ocean. The sound of waves slapping gently against the edge is an immediate siren call for Steve and it must show on his face. Bucky takes the blanket out of his arms and nudges him toward the water. 

“Go look,” he says, smiling, “I’ve got this.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Bucky assures him and drops his bag on the ground before laying out the blanket deftly to prove his point. Steve feels a little bad for letting him do all the work, but he really does want to see. He won’t take too long.

Of course, because it’s him, he gets completely absorbed by the scene. Once there, Steve just can’t bring himself to look away from the slate gray of the water in the distance and the white of the foam as waves lap at the tiny stretch of shore below him. He’s so enraptured that he barely hears Bucky approach. It’s a mystery how he manages to not jump out of his skin when a pair of arms slide around his middle from behind.

“Shh...,” Bucky says softly, front molding warmly along Steve’s back, “it’s just me.” Well, if that doesn’t sum it up then what will? In retrospect, it’s like a foregone conclusion that they’d end up here. No matter what, this is how they are. It’s just _them_. Steve melts against the solid warmth of Bucky’s chest and places his hands gently on top of Bucky’s arms. They stand there like that for a long while, breathing in tandem and coming to terms with the reality of everything. That tiny voice of worry in the back of Steve’s mind hasn’t completely gone away, but if this is how it’s going to be, he thinks he could really get used to it. Out here on the precipice, surrounded by nothing but the ocean in front and the forest at their back, it feels like nothing else matters. Like there’s no one else in the world. And somehow, that’s not so terrifying a thought.

A strong gust of sea wind sweeps over them and Steve takes a deep breath, tasting the ocean on his tongue. His skin tingles as if a live current were running through him. He wonders if it’s normal to feel like this, to feel this much already. For once, the tightness in his chest is not an unwelcomed feeling. He squeezes Bucky’s arms gently to get his attention. “Is this normal? To feel like this?” he asks when Bucky looks down at him, questioning. 

Bucky hums in thought and doesn’t ask for clarification. “I don’t know,” he muses, tightening his arms around Steve gently. “But it’s not so bad huh?”

“No,” Steve agrees, smiling shyly, “not bad at all.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” Bucky decides. Steve can practically feel Bucky’s joy radiating off of him. It’s both exciting and humbling. Bucky’s stomach suddenly growls, ruining their little moment and making them both laugh. “Come on, I’m hungry. Are you hungry? Let’s go put a dent in that food.” 

Steve lets himself get pulled along, only looking briefly back at the water once. “Not possible,” he sasses, but quickly loses whatever else he’d wanted to say when he sees how Bucky had set up everything. Covered plates of food have been placed neatly in the center of the blanket and bottles of drinks line one edge of the blanket, next to them two tall glasses and two empty plates complete with silverware. There’s even a little vase of flowers in the middle of it all. The whole setup is illuminated by four portable camping lamps. Steve literally pinches himself to make sure it’s all real. His life has turned into some kind of movie.

“Jeez, Buck, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Steve quips wryly. “You’re going to ruin me for everyone else.”

Bucky gives him a look, eyebrows raised. “Maybe that’s the point,” he suggests smugly. And really, Steve has no comeback for that. 

They get settled on the blanket and dig into the feast with gusto. Steve has a moment where he’s at a loss for where to start, but decides to just follow Bucky’s lead. The conversation is as easy as always, and yeah, this is good. They’re just two best friends on a date. It’s fun. It’s nice. It feels like any other day they’d spent under that big tree in the pasture. Belatedly, Steve wonders if they’d been dating all along and he just never realized it or recognized it. Again, it’s really no wonder that they’ve ended up here.

After dinner, Steve helps Bucky with cleaning up and putting everything away. He’d been right, they didn’t make too big of dent in all the food, but hopefully the cooler will be a little lighter on the way back. Bucky immediately flops back onto the blanket the moment they finish with clean up. Steve makes fun of him for the awkward look to his haphazard sprawl, but doesn’t hesitate in following suit when Bucky beckons him to join, charming smile lit by one of the lamps. He should’ve been more cautious.

The moment Steve approaches, Bucky yanks hard at his arm. Completely caught off guard, Steve stumbles and ends up sprawling across Bucky’s front. “Oof!” they both grunt. Steve punches Bucky in the shoulder the moment he gets his breath back.

“You jerk!” he chides, “that hurt!” Well, only a little, but Steve pouts dramatically for emphasis. Bucky stares at him with wide eyes for a couple of seconds before bursting out in laughter. 

“The look on your face, punk!” he chortles. 

“Hey!” Steve punches him again and dodges when Bucky makes a grab for him. But he’s not quick enough to dodge the pinch to his side. He yelps and rolls away, laughing, only to have Bucky follow. They end up tussling and rolling around on the blanket for a little bit, both trying to get in swipes and pinches and tickles at each other. When they come to a stop, Bucky has Steve’s smaller body trapped beneath his own as he supports himself with both arms outstretched, barely any space is left between them. They’re both breathless with laughter, faces flushed red from exertion. Their eyes meet and hold, bright with merriment. In the span of a couple heaving breaths, the gleam of mirth darkens into something else, something more. Steve watches, actively forcing himself to keep breathing, as Bucky’s eyes flick quickly down to his lips before refocusing on his face. 

“Stevie,” Bucky breathes softly, voice dripping with emotion, “may I?” His intent is clear.

And Steve doesn’t even have to consider. “Yeah.”

Bucky lowers himself slowly, head tilting slightly. Steve’s eyes flutter close when there’s barely a breath between them. This time, they don’t get interrupted. Bucky’s lips are gentle when they press to his, the feeling just right. His first kiss doesn’t make him see stars, but when Steve tentatively kisses back, Steve thinks nothing could’ve been better than this simple thing. And in that moment, he feels himself fall of the edge and tumble down the slope. He doesn’t care. When Bucky pulls back, it’s too soon. He feels warm from head to toe, full of something he can’t name. Their eyes meet again and they smile at each other besottedly.

“Buck,” Steve whispers happily, and tilts his face up when Bucky leans back in instead of saying anything. Their lips meet again, gentle, with more intent this time, and Steve can’t help but sigh reverently . Oh he could really, really get used to this. Bucky kisses him like he has all the time in the world and he wants to give it all to Steve. It’s exciting, intoxicating, and it literally steals the breath from his lungs. When they break apart, Bucky nuzzles his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, overjoyed, and Steve can’t help but smile at the feeling. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and holds him close, heart so full he thinks it’s going to burst. Bucky’s weight is comforting on top of him, surrounding him, and for the first time in his life, Steve is glad to be small. 

They stay like that until Steve suddenly notices the sky overhead. “Bucky, look!” he says, and shoves at Bucky until Bucky rolls off him onto his back, confused. Steve points at the sky in excitement. Out here where there’s no light pollution, the stars are on full display. The sheer number of stars visible is astounding. It’s as if they’re on the very edge of space itself. 

“It’s something else, huh?” Bucky comments, and he’s talking about more than just the stars. Steve looks to him and finds the stars reflected in his eyes, no less beautiful for it. He smiles when Bucky reaches for his hand, tangling their fingers together.

“Yeah, it is,” he says sincerely. Overhead, the meteor shower starts and the starscape is crossed with streaks of light.


	13. Chapter 13

School becomes a whole new form of torture when you have a secret to keep, especially when everyone is crammed into the same room. Thankfully, it’s the last week and Steve reassures himself that five days is nothing. It works at first, but by the end of day two, he’s reconsidering his resolve. Every time he and Bucky make eye contact, Steve has to fight the nearly irresistible urge to throw himself at the other boy. He blames it on the newness of it all. On top of causing him to constantly want to be closer to Bucky, the newly changed status of their relationship is also what’s making them keep it a secret. It’s too early, they’ve agreed, to let other people know - because they’re choosing to be a little selfish. Both of them want to keep this to themselves for now so it doesn’t get tainted by anyone else’s opinion. 

But it’s hard. When Natasha gives him yet another inquiring look during lunch, Steve almost throws in the towel. He’s barely keeping it together as is. Lucky for him, Bucky chooses that moment to throw an arm around his shoulders, casual as any other day. It’s contact that all their friends are used to seeing between them, and it’s certainly better than nothing. Steve leans into Bucky’s side gratefully and tries to not be too obvious about anything. Natasha still squints suspiciously at him, but at least everyone else seems none-the-wiser.

After school, Bucky drives him home as usual. Though, usual these days means they hold hands the whole way and trade kisses when stopped at red lights. When they get to the house, Bucky walks him to the door and gathers him close to kiss him goodbye and goodnight. Everyday is the same. Steve wouldn’t change it for the world.

Inevitably, Steve finds himself falling more and more each day. It still scares him a little, but ultimately, he admits that he’s happier than he’s ever been so he’s going to give this all he’s got. The little bubble of fear emerges every time he watches Bucky leave at the end of the day, but he valiantly squashes them down. He’s going to be brave and have faith, just like Sarah had said. He knows this is worth it, and if nothing else, he _wants_ it. There’s no question about that. He’ll fight tooth and nail to hang on to it (he’s proud of himself for not having any panic attacks at least). 

It helps that Bucky is Bucky. His actions make it so that it’s easy for Steve to believe in him. The whole week, he’s been nothing but all kinds of wonderful - still the best friend that Steve has come to know and love dearly, but with a whole new depth to his obvious regard. For the first time in his life, Steve is beginning to understand what it means to be cherished. It’s a feeling that he’s going to get addicted to before too long, he knows.

~o~

They survive the week of exams and hidden secret without too much trouble, thankfully. On the last day, Bucky tells Steve that his family will leaving town for a week to visit family and run some errands. Since they have such a big family, it’s their annual routine to go stock up on everything they can’t get in town well before the first winter storms come in and Bucky has to be there to help. Steve tries not to be too obviously disappointed about this news, but Bucky sees right through him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes when they get back to Steve’s house. He walks around the car to gather Steve close. “I don’t want to leave either, but it’s only one week. We’ll be back in time for the Stark Party.” 

“I know,” Steve says, leaning heavily into Bucky’s embrace. “I’m just being stupid.”

Bucky chuckles at that but tightens his arms around Steve. “Nah, you’re allowed.” He brushes a kiss to the top of Steve’s head. “What are you doing to me, Stevie? I don’t want to let you go.”

“Then don’t,” Steve suggests petulantly, pouting for effect when he leans back to look up at Bucky. He can’t help but smile when Bucky’s eyes crinkle at him with obvious fondness. Bucky leans down to kiss him but they’re both smiling too much for it. “Alright,” Steve says, pulling back after a couple of seconds, “you can go.”

“I can go, huh?” Bucky teases.

“Yeah, I’m not going to kidnap you.” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, but his expression is indulgent. “Ha, I’d like to see you try.” Steve shoves Bucky away a hurt expression that only lasts two seconds before he’s smiling again. Sue him, he just can’t help it with Bucky looking like that. He makes a show of turning away and heading up to the door. 

“See if I miss you now,” Steve says over his shoulder, challenging.

The look that Bucky levels at him causes a sudden burst of adrenaline to surge through his veins. On instinct alone, Steve bolts for the door. He barely gets a couple of steps in before Bucky is upon him, grabbing him from behind and somehow spinning him around so that he’s pressed flush against Bucky’s front, effectively trapped. Then Bucky is kissing him, long and hard and possessive, and Steve can do nothing but take it, stunned into submission. His knees feel like jello by the time they part, both panting harshly. 

“You wanna rethink that statement?” Bucky asks, unbearably smug. 

Steve’s still too stunned to glare. “That’s not even fair,” he complains. 

“I never said I’d play fair,” Bucky responds, grinning when Steve huffs indignantly and crosses his arms. “Aw, Stevie, don’t be like that.”

“It’s what you deserve.”

Bucky sighs dramatically. “Okay, okay,” he placates, and moves to pull Steve close again. “I’m sorry.” Steve has to fight the urge to smile when he rolls his eyes and tilts his face up for an apology kiss that Bucky is all too willing to give. When they part, Bucky sighs for real, his breath ghosting over Steve’s tingling lips. “I have to go for real,” he says, voice a little somber. 

“It’s only a week,” Steve is the one to reassure this time. He makes himself pull away so he doesn’t cling too tightly. “I’ll see you at the Party?” That at least makes Bucky brighten.

“Yeah,” he says with a little more enthusiasm in his voice. Then he grins, “wanna be my plus one?” Though their relationship is still pretty much a secret, there’s no point in keeping a distance at the biggest event of the year. It’s probably not _possible_ to keep that distance. 

Steve snorts. “Dork, I already know that’s not a thing, but yes, of course.” 

“Make sure to wear something pretty,” Bucky teases, and with one more kiss and a hug, he heads back out to his car. Steve watches him go until the lights from the car have disappeared. Then he closes the door. A couple of days is nothing.

~o~

Steve uses the time that Bucky’s gone to spend some quality time with Natasha and Sam, just hanging out and catching up. Natasha doesn’t pry, which Steve is thankful for, but really it’s only a matter of time anyway. If she doesn’t already know what he’s been keeping quiet about, she’ll know at the Stark Party. She does, however, drag him to the little “shop” that the Starks have filled with stuff for the party. There, she makes him try on several outfits, all of them consisting of high - waisted pants that Steve thinks actually look pretty good on him. Thankfully, there’s surprisingly few people in the store at the time so he doesn’t feel bad for hogging the changing room. Natasha eventually decides on a white button down shirt and dark red suspenders to go with the pants. She even finds him a pair of Oxfords to go with the clothes. Steve once again has to commend her taste when he checks himself out in the mirror. He certainly looks like he’s stepped out of one of those old time magazines from the 40s. Natasha nods approvingly at her handiwork, but then strides to the back of the stores to rummage through the accessory bins. There’s a bin of vintage-looking watches that she completely ignores in favor of the novelty bin. It isn’t until Natasha has spent more than two minutes digging through it that Steve gets a little suspicious.

“Nat -” he starts, heading toward her.

But she finds whatever she’d been looking for first. Triumphant, she turns to him and holds up a pair of worn army tags. Steve looks from them to her face, trying to decide what those have to do with his outfit. His brow furrows at the mischievous gleam in her eyes but he doesn’t resist when she puts the tags around his neck. 

“There,” Natasha says, looking him up and down with approval, “now that’s complete.” The smirk teasing at the corner of her lips is both familiar and a little infuriating. Steve is certain that she knows something he doesn’t. Again.

He traces a finger over the cool metal of the matching tags, considering. “What does this have to do with my outfit?” he asks Natasha. 

“You’ll see,” Natasha says. “Just trust me.”

Steve looks at himself in the mirror, once again appreciating the clothing. The tags only add to the look, giving something of a personal touch to the image even though they inherently are not personal to him. He has a bit of an idea what this might be about, but it’s too vague to voice. He sighs. “I do, unfortunately, trust you.”

Natasha just smiles innocently at him. “Roll your sleeves up to your elbows.”

~o~

Steve keeps himself busy the whole rest of the week by helping out in the clinic as much as possible and going on every house call. Time always passes by faster if he doesn’t sit around and overthink things. Besides, it also gives him the opportunity to have some well needed quality time with Sarah. As far as he can tell, she’s welcoming of his company too. They’ve only continued to get closer as the weeks pass, and Steve actually calls her “mom” for the first time as they were sitting in the living room together, him sketching and she reading. It surprises him because he hadn’t even been thinking about it. It’d just slipped out when he gets her attention to show her one of his more drawings. Though Sarah fails to completely hide her astonishment at the term, she takes whatever silent cue Steve gives off and doesn’t make a big deal out of it to not embarrass him. If she hugs him extra tight that night, Steve gives her the same courtesy by not commenting on it. He does, however, go to bed with a smile on his face and more warmth in his heart than ever. 


	14. Chapter 14

The day of the Stark party, Steve wakes up feeling a little off. It’s mostly gone by the time he finishes breakfast, though, so he doesn’t think much of it. Besides, he’s been sick plenty of times in his life to know when something is actually wrong. He does his chores as usual, speeding up the process out of pure excitement. Bucky’s family will be back today and the big party is tonight. He’s basically been waiting all week for this day to arrive. He doesn’t know how he’s going to make all the way until night without going crazy.

Thankfully, Sarah picks up on his barely contained energy and asks him to help out with her clinic inventory with the promise of stories about the previous years’ parties. To his relief, the process of sorting and counting every item in the clinic is actually rather helpful in taking the edge off of his excitement. By the time they’re finished with everything (Sarah will be making a trip in the near future to get what the clinic needs), there’s just enough time for them to shower and change into their respective “costumes” for the night. Steve takes care in putting on the clothes that Natasha had picked for him and spends a little more time than usual on his hair. He feels a little silly, but convinces himself that he has to look nice for Bucky. They haven’t seen in each other in what feels like forever! Sarah takes a little longer than he does, but it’s well worth the wait. When she comes down the stairs, Steve actually makes a noise of delight. Dressed in a knee-length emerald dress complete with white gloves and perfectly curled hair, Sarah looks the epitome of a first class lady from the 40s. She takes one look at the expression on his face and laughs merrily. “I like to impress once in awhile,” she winks. “Take note, kiddo. It’s good to blow people out of the water once in awhile. The secret is making sure they never see it coming.”

Steve has a feeling that tonight is going to be amazing.

~o~

He isn’t disappointed. The party is already in full swing by the time they arrive despite the fact that it’s still relatively early. Apparently, there’s plenty of food to go around too so most people forego eating dinner at home. It seems like the whole town is there, and Steve can’t help but gawk open mouthed at all the decor and all the people. The Starks really have pulled out all the stops and everything from their giant driveway to their even more giant house has been decorated and revamped to look like a scene straight out of a 40s movie. “What did the town do for them to earn all this?” he asks, not even sure if Sarah is paying any attention to him.

She chuckles. “No one is sure. They’re just really generous people I guess.” It’s incredible, Steve is having trouble believing it even as he’s taking in every little detail and sight. The artist in him wants to fill whole sketchbooks with scenes from this party. It seems like the whole town is there too, all dressed in various representations of 40s fashion. Steve runs into more than a few familiar faces as he makes his way through the crowd, following behind Sarah as she introduces him to a few more people. Miss Peggy is there too, and Steve tells her she looks absolutely beautiful in her bright red dress. Throughout it all he keeps his eyes open for Bucky, but doesn’t see him or his family. Sarah notices and reassures him that it’s still early without asking who he’s looking for. 

Not much later, Natasha finds him, looking absolutely stunning in a black evening gown. Steve has to excuse himself from Sarah when she promptly drags him off to where her boyfriend Clint is sitting at a table with several of their friends from school, all of them feasting on the wide array of food present on the table. Steve says hi to everyone and tries not to let his disappointment show when he sees that Bucky isn’t among them. He sits in the chair next to Natasha and forces himself to join in the conversation at the table. At some point, Sam shows up with Riley in tow and Steve is actually more than happy to chat with them and get to know Riley now that he’s not in pain on a hospital bed. He doesn’t miss the longing looks that Sam and Riley give each other when one thinks the other isn’t looking, and wonders if there’s more to their friendship than they’re willing to admit. That quickly makes his mind go back to thinking about Bucky. Had they looked like that? His fingers drift unconsciously to the metal tags hanging around his neck and he barely gathers himself enough to say goodbye when Sam and Riley move on to socialize with other people.

Natasha notices, of course, nudging him and raising her eyebrow in curiosity. Steve barely contains the sigh when he shakes his head to say he’s fine. She gives him a disbelieving, knowing look and makes to tune back into the rest of the table, but something behind his shoulder catches her eyes. The slow, deliberate smile that spreads across her face then immediately sends Steve’s heart racing. “Ooh, don’t look now, Steve,” she says, her voice low and playful. “Your soldier has returned from the war.” Steve nearly falls out of his seat when he whips his head around to look.

It’s like some scene in the movie where time slows and the crowd parts magically down the middle. Bucky is there, looking more handsome than anyone Steve’s ever seen in a forest green military dress uniform complete with a hat (tilted cockily to the side because he’s Bucky) and decorative army badges. The breath freezes in Steve’s lungs. He watches as Bucky scans the room, and feels his heart stop when their eyes meet. It’s cliche, but when Bucky beams at him, it’s like the first bright ray of sunlight coming out of the horizon. For a long moment it's as if time stops. Then, Bucky gives him a dorky salute.

And Steve really hadn’t planned on making a scene. 

He’s out of his chair faster than he can process and running through the crowd a second later. Bucky moves at the same moment, rushing to meet him halfway and it’s like the world disappears around them. They’re upon each other within the span of heartbeats, and Steve doesn’t hesitate in throwing himself into Bucky’s arms with an exuberant laugh. Bucky catches him effortlessly, lifting him off the ground so that Steve’s actually looking down at his face for once, and twirls them around and around, laughing too. His hat gets knocked off in the process, but neither of them notice. When they still to a stop, Steve has his hands around Bucky’s face and he’s grinning so hard he thinks his face will split in half from the force of it. It doesn’t matter though, not with Bucky looking up at him, eyes twinkling like he’s the happiest person in the world. “Hi,” Steve murmurs, and uses his hands to hold Bucky’s face still as he leans down for a kiss. He sighs contently when their lips meet. His soldier back from the war indeed.

“I missed you,” Bucky whispers when they pull apart to take a breath, foreheads still pressed together. He steals a chaste kiss before setting Steve back down on the floor, his arms not quite unwinding from around Steve’s body.

Reality sets in the moment Steve’s feet touch the ground and his face is suddenly flaming when he realizes what they just did. “Oh god,” Steve groans, hiding his face in Bucky’s chest. “I can’t believe that just happened.” He really hopes Sarah hadn’t seen him, Bucky’s family too. 

Bucky’s whole body is trembling with amusement. He snickers quietly, the embarrassment clear in his tone when he too comes to the realization of the scene they’d just performed in the middle of the crowd of party goers. “Jeez, it’s like I lose my mind when I see you,” Bucky says. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

“Speak for yourself,” Steve gripes, then starts giggling softly. “Oh my god, everyone’s going to think we’re some kind of starcrossed lovers or something. We’re never going to live this one down.”

This time, Bucky’s the one who groans loudly. “Maybe no one saw.” 

Steve pauses. “Seriously?”

“Fine. Let’s run for it?” Bucky suggest hopefully. He’s starting to giggle too. Oh no, they’re going to start laughing hysterically at this rate.

“Tempting, but no,” Steve says, trying to sound firm but failing when he can’t keep a straight face, “the party’s only just started.” He pulls out of Bucky’s arms and bends to retrieve the hat that had been forgotten until now and makes a point to not look at anyone. Blushing furiously, he hands the hat back to Bucky, who takes it with an equally red face. Steve chances a peek over his shoulder at their friends and promptly wishes he hadn’t. They all look to be in varying degrees of shock, with the exception of Natasha who has a wolfish grin on her face. But he’s made his choice to stay so he’s going to go back with his head held high. Doesn’t make it any less daunting though.

Bucky grabs his hand as they start for the table. “We’re in this together,” he explains when Steve glances at him. True. 

There’s an awkward moment when they get to the table where no one seems to know what to say. Natasha looks like the cat who got the cream while everyone else is obviously trying to come up with some witty thing to say. She throws Steve a devilish grin and turns to the rest of the table. “Pay up, boys,” she says, and they all groan loudly.

“What?” Steve blurts out in bewilderment when everyone begrudgingly fishes five dollars out of their pockets. 

“We had a bet to see if you two would ever get together,” Natasha explains as she tucks away the money in her little purse, smug. “Everyone bet against me.”

Steve blinks at her. Then Bucky starts laughing. “Shit!” he guffaws, “Tasha, you’re the worst!” So she’d known all along, probably even before he did.. Steve really needs to stop underestimating her. 

“Not my fault you boys are all emotionally challenged and blind,” Natasha says wryly, effectively breaking the ice when everyone yells in protest. Steve gives her a silent look of thanks when he and Bucky get pulled down to sit at the table with everyone as if nothing had changed. 

“I’m happy for you,” Natasha tells him when everyone else engaged in whatever story Bucky’s telling. Steve looks over fondly when Bucky throws his head back to laugh at something one of the guys says in response to him. 

“Thanks, Nat,” he says, smiling wide.

~o~

The party goes on well into the night. There’s an endless supply of free food and drinks and when the music changes from atmospheric background songs to upbeat dance numbers, everyone floods to the big open room to the side of the Stark mansion to throw down their moves. Some people obviously practiced some 40s style dances for the occasion. Steve can’t dance to save his life, but he’s more than happy to stand on the sidelines and cheer on his friends. Bucky is, unsurprisingly, quite a good dancer and he spends some time showing off with their friends. He and Natasha even end up doing some kind of routine together, wowing the crowd with every dramatic spin and dip. Steve will have to ask them where they learned it later.

Near the end of the night, just after Sarah finds him to say she’s going to head home first, the music changes again. This time, the speakers fill with the unmistakable crooning of timeless love songs. “Everyone, grab your best guy or gal and come to the floor!” someone says into a microphone somewhere. “This one is for you!” Many people do.

Bucky wastes no time in coming to find Steve. The two of them end up joining couples and friends, young and old, out on the dance floor as the lights dim. An arm slides around Steve’s waist and he lets himself be led as Bucky waltzes them around the room effortlessly (it’s a wonder Steve doesn’t trip over his own feet or step on Bucky’s toes). He grins when Bucky leans in close as they slow to sway gently to the beat instead. “Are you my best guy, Stevie?”

“Thought it’s pretty obvious,” Steve says, gazing into Bucky’s eyes. 

“I just want to make sure,” Bucky teases quietly. His hand lifts to cup Steve’s face in one palm and strokes a thumb over Steve’s cheek, gentle, worshiping. Steve’s eyes flutter close at the sensation. He leans into the touch, humming in content. 

“You know I am,” he murmurs, and puts his head on Bucky’s chest, ear over the strong beat of Bucky’s heart. Bucky’s wraps both arms around him and rests his chin on his head. The sense of peace that washes over Steve is indescribable. Being here like this is the most comforting thing in the world. It’s a long time before Steve pulls back a little to see Bucky’s face. “Kiss me?”

Bucky obliges. “Anything for my best guy,” he promises.


	15. Chapter 15

In the morning, Steve wakes up with a sore throat and a hoarseness to his voice that wasn’t there the day before. Honestly, it’s probably because he’d talked and laughed so much last night. He sits up in bed, blinking blearily at how utterly exhausted he feels. The party must’ve really worn him out. But, he thinks as he spies the outfit he’d worn last night draped over the back of his desk chair, army tags on top, it was so worth it. It had been so, so much fun. He feels a little giddy just thinking about everything that had happened last night. Sure, he and Bucky had been teased endlessly by their friends for their unintentional re-enactment of a romantic movie cliche, but it’d been such a wonderful little moment and Steve wouldn’t hesitate to do it all over again. In fact, he’d just relive the night on repeat if he could because Bucky had been like a dream in his dress uniform and Steve had felt like the luckiest guy in the world to be the one that Bucky held close and kissed. He gets a dopey smile on his face just thinking about it.

Sadly, daydreams can only last so long before reality calls. Steve swallows experimentally against the pain at the back of his throat and finds it to be more than tolerable. Seems like it’s nothing to be too concerned about. It’ll probably go away on its own after a day or two. He’s had random bouts of sore throats before. So, business as usual then. He drags himself out of bed and into the shower. By the time he steps out, steam billowing around him, the soreness has been pushed to the back of his mind and he’s awake enough to start the day. 

Sarah is eating breakfast in the kitchen when Steve shows up downstairs. “Good morning,” he greets and she looks up from the stuff she’d been working on with a smile. “How was your night?” She looks no worse for wear from the party, merely a little tired still. That could just be the morning though.

“It was great,” Sarah says, “I had a good time.” She doesn’t elaborate, and when Steve sits down across from her with a bowl of cereal, he finds her watching him curiously. Oh great, here it comes. He’s fighting the urge to blush even before she starts talking.

“So,” Sarah starts, her lips twitch as if she’s trying not to grin. Steve focuses on eating a spoonful of cereal. “You had a good time too, huh?” She waggles her eyebrows at him, teasing, then laughs quietly under her breath.

Steve groans loudly. “You saw.” He’d been afraid of this. At least Sarah doesn’t seem upset about it.

“It was kind of hard to miss, kiddo, even when there was so much going on,” Sarah imparts, and laughs louder when Steve covers his face with his hands. “It was like watching one of those old end-of-the-war celebration photos come to life. Only, you weren’t in a pretty dress.” 

“Oh god, please stop,” Steve groans into his hands. This is the worst. He feels like he’s going to spontaneously combust out of embarrassment. 

“The best part,” Sarah continues, pretending not to hear him. She’s entirely having way too much fun at his expense. “The best part was that I’d just run into Winnie at the time.” Steve uncovers his face to gape at her in horror. Sarah pats his hand sympathetically, still grinning. “Don’t worry, she and I had a good laugh. Did I tell you we’re actually good friends?”

“Kill me now,” Steve mutters. No, she hadn’t told him. Now he’s imaging the two women gossiping about him and Bucky as mothers do.

Sarah ruffles his hair. “No can do, kiddo. I just got you.” Steve smiles shyly at that, face still red.

“So, you’re not going to send me away?” He blurts it out without having realized he’d been thinking it. Old habits die hard apparently.

“Why would I?”

Steve thinks about it, wishing he could backtrack. “Because you don’t approve?” It’s the best he can come up with.

Sarah shakes her head at him. “I never said that. And even if it were true, I still wouldn’t be sending you away. You’re here to stay, Steve.” She makes sure that he got the message before teasing again. “Besides, I encouraged you to take a leap of faith, didn’t I? It’d be pretty horrible of me if I got upset about you taking it literally.” Steve splutters into his cereal. 

“I’m never going to live this down,” he says morosely. “We didn’t mean to make a scene. Just happened.” He glances up at Sarah to see her reaction. Though the teasing gleam is still in her eyes, her expression turns slightly more serious.

“That’s how I know this is a good thing and why I’m not too worried,” she tells him. “It’s good to see that what you guys have is wonderful enough to elicit that kind of expression. Everyone in the room could tell how genuinely happy you two were to see each other.” 

Huh, Steve hadn’t thought about it like that before. “Thanks,” he says. It doesn’t make him any less embarrassed by the whole situation though. “I...I’d like to see where it goes. I tell myself everyday to have faith and be brave like you said. Some days I don’t even have to because it all feels so...right.” He smiles to himself. “Bucky makes it easy.”

Sarah nods in approval. “I’m proud of you,” she says. It’s the first time Steve’s ever heard those words directed at him and he flushes all over again in quiet pleasure. “Just let me know if you ever need to talk about anything, okay? I’m here for you.”

Standing up, Steve moves around the table to give her a big hug. It’s a little awkward from the angle, but he makes it work. Relieved and happy, he lays his head on her shoulder briefly. “Thanks, mom,” he whispers. Sarah rubs his back soothingly in return.

~o~

Later that day, Bucky comes by the house to take him out to a movie. They spend the whole time in the theater holding hands and cuddling close, whispering about the movie in each other’s ear and giggling quietly at the comments they make. The soreness in the back of his throat is starting to flare up again, but Steve continues to ignore it. He doesn’t want anything to come in between him and Bucky now.

Afterwards, they go out to the tree in the pasture for what’s probably the last time before the tree completely loses its leaves to winter. There, they lie in the grass, curled facing each other, Steve’s arm across Bucky’s waist and Bucky’s hand on his face, so warm and comforting and treasuring. It’s a lazy, slow day with nothing to worry about. No words are exchanged between them for hours. They just look at each other the whole time, taking in each other’s presence, holding close all that they feel in the barely there space between them. Steve feels weightless, dizzy with brimming emotions. He thinks he can stare into Bucky’s gray-blue eyes forever, lose himself in there, and just leave everything else behind. Then Bucky is rolling on top of him and kissing him and kissing him until Steve is breathless, floating on a high of endorphin, tingling from head to toe with barely contained energy. His heart feels so full it’s flooding over, crumbling away layers of the walls that he’d built around it all these years. He wraps himself around Bucky, holding him close, and thinks he can be saved from his fears after all.

~o~

Steve’s sore throat comes back full force that night and for the next couple of days, he’s a little feverish. It’s not a big deal though. He knows when he’s really sick and this isn’t anything close. Sarah checks his temperature every couple of hours or so and gives him some aspirin to help relieve the symptoms. She makes warm tea that soothes his throat. Bucky brings over chicken soup from his mother and cuddles with Steve on the couch while he eats. Steve naps a lot, curled up in Bucky’s arms, but he’s really not that bad off and doesn’t feel much worse than a slight discomfort from the low fever. Within a couple of days, he’s back to normal and forgets about the whole thing. Hopefully, this will be all the illness he has to deal with this year. It’d be a nice change from the bouts of pneumonia and what not that usually plague him at this time.

Winter is fast approaching and everyone in town is starting to make preparations for it. The temperature is noticeably dropping by the week and a strong wind periodically sweeps through the town. Sarah has him help with getting the farm ready for the storms that she says come every year without fail. They go through the house and check everything for any defects, making sure the insulation and water pipes are intact. Sam comes by to help out with the sprinkler blow-out all throughout the property. Then, Sarah takes him out of town to the closest wholesale to stock up on food.

Bucky comes along to help, but mainly so that he can spend as much time as possible with Steve and vice versa. Sarah rolls her eyes at them but agrees. It’s not like she’s not used to Bucky constantly being around these days anyway. Bucky’s become a little more protective, a little more reluctant to be apart since Steve’s little bout of illness a couple of weeks ago. Though there’s no need for Bucky’s behavior - it’s not like Steve was remotely in any danger - he’s not complaining. Sue him, he likes it when Bucky dotes on him. Steve makes a point of sitting in the passenger seat, though, so that they won’t embarrass themselves in front of Sarah. He doesn’t have the same resolve on the way home, however. Feeling more exhausted from the shopping than he’d anticipated, Steve asks for permission first before crawling into the backseat with Bucky. He falls asleep with his head on Bucky’s shoulder and doesn’t wake until they’re pulling into driveway nearly two hours later. He hopes it wasn’t too awkward in the car without him to mediate, but then who is he kidding, Bucky is still charming as hell and actually gets along really well with Sarah. 

Nearly two weeks after that, Sarah leaves for her annual supply stocking trip. She’ll be gone for the better part of the week as it’s a long drive and there’s a lot to bring back. Usually, she tells Steve, Joseph stayed back just in case since he had some medical training with his pharmacy degree, but everyone in town just hopes nothing will happen until she comes back. This year, it’ll be about the same, only she’s leaving Steve in charge of the clinic and house calls this time. They’re not expecting anyone to need any serious treatment and Steve is more than capable of handling the routine calls that Sarah goes on. She’s taught him well these past months. If anything does indeed happen, he knows how to call for help. Steve is pleased that Sarah trusts him enough to do this.

Feeling just a little apprehensive, but ultimately calm about the whole situation, Steve bids Sarah goodbye with a long hug. “Drive safe, mom,” he tells her as she turns to go. 

She kisses him on the cheek and smiles warmly at him. “Be good, okay? I’ll be back in no time. You’re a smart kid. I know you can handle this. Just don’t be afraid to call for help if you need it.” Later, he’ll have to appreciate the irony of the situation when he ends up being the one that needs help. For now though, Steve nods in acknowledgement. 

“I will.” He waves until she’s out of sight, then heads back into the house. Bucky and Natasha will be coming by later to keep him company.

~o~

Bucky ends up spending the night at Steve’s house. After Natasha leaves, they drive back to Bucky’s place so that he can pack an overnight bag. Steve is once again accosted by Bucky’s little sisters when he steps through the door. They beg him to come back and play the next day and he agrees. He’d promised (however vaguely) after all. On the way back out the door, Winnie stops them and forces them to take some food along. Knowing better than to politely refuse by this point, Steve thanks her profusely and takes the bag she’d filled. It’s a little heavier than he’d expected and he grunts under the weight, but he insists on carrying it since Bucky’s already carrying his own stuff.

Winnie gives them both hugs before pulling back and leveling them with a pointed look. The gleam in her eyes is identical to Bucky’s when he’s about to say something to embarrass the hell out of Steve. Steve takes a step back out of self preservation. Not that that helps him in not hearing what Winnie says next. She barely keep a straight face. “Don’t forget to use protection, boys,” she says wryly, lips twitching. Steve all but faints from the mortification. 

“Mom!” Bucky complains loudly and ushers Steve out the door. Winnie bursts into peals of laughter and Steve wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. His skin is so hot he’ll probably burn whoever touches him.

“Just saying,” Winnie shrugs. “I want you both to be safe.”

Bucky groans, pinching the bridge of his nose in that particular way he does when he’s thoroughly embarrassed. “Stop! Stop talking!” 

The same time Steve blurts out without thinking, “We’re not doing it!” There’s a moment of stunned silence when he shuts his mouth with a click. Seriously, kill him now. Winnie’s eyes widen comically for a second before she starts laughing again. Bucky bodily drags him out the door, face red.

“Oh! Oh well, okay, okay, lesson over,” Winnie says, following them to stand in the doorway. “I’ll sleep better tonight at least.”

“Bye!” Bucky yells and shoves Steve into his car before running around to the driver’s side. They high-tail it out of there without a word to each other, both too embarrassed to make a sound. It isn’t until they’re at one of the stoplights that Bucky snorts suddenly. “I’m so sorry that happened,” he snickers. 

Steve chances a look at him before burying his face in his hands. “I thought I was gonna die of embarrassment, Bucky,” he says into his palms. Then he thinks about what he’d blurted and wants to die all over again. “Jeez.”

Bucky chuckles and reaches over to ruffle his hair. “You and me both, pal. Let’s just pretend that never happened okay?” Steve is quick to agree.

They sleep in Steve’s bed that night, Bucky spooning him from behind. Steve’s a little nervous at first, having never shared a bed with anyone before. It doesn’t take him long to get used to Bucky’s warm presence at his back though and by the time he’s drifting off, he’s pressing himself further into Bucky’s embrace. Bucky presses a gentle kiss to the back of his neck and Steve falls asleep with a content smile on his lips.


	16. Chapter 16

Steve and Bucky spend nearly every single minute together while Sarah is out of town. Bucky helps out with Steve’s chores and drives him to see Sarah’s patients when it’s time. They spend the days watching movies and messing around, visiting some places in town and getting together with their friends. Steve spends one afternoon getting Bucky to model for him as he draws and Bucky takes him out for another picnic on another. The afternoon after that they blast music from the speakers and spend hours making out on the couch. Steve finds that he isn’t ready for much more than that still - much to his embarrassment. But Bucky is a gentleman and doesn’t rush him into anything he’s not comfortable with, only slips his hands under Steve’s shirt to run them over miles of delicate skin. 

Bucky goes home to pack another bag on the second day and ends up spending the night every day of the week. Steve starts looking forward to the end of the day when they can crawl into bed together. He’s so screwed, he thinks blearily at some point, the bed is going to be too cold when this ends. Sarah is coming back in two days and they certainly can’t act like this all the time when she’s back.

The next morning, Steve wakes up with a fever and immediately knows something isn’t right.

~o~

There’s a storm gathering. The daylight that usually streams through the cracks in the blinds is muted and gray and a heaviness has settled in the air. Everyone familiar with the weather will bet the first snow of the season will be in later in the day.

Blinking awake, Steve shifts restlessly against the strange feeling throughout his body. Despite sleeping well last night, he feels absolutely exhausted, muscles heavy with fatigue. There’s a tightness in his chest that he hasn’t felt in awhile, and his skin feels tight and too hot. Shit, he thinks. He forces himself to remain calm and not to worry just yet. He’s had asthma attacks that had felt like this before. Blindly, he reaches out to the bedside table but doesn’t find his inhaler there. Crap. Steve doesn’t think he has the energy to get up and look at the moment. He blinks again before turning his head to see Bucky.

Bucky is still sleeping, curled on his side facing Steve. Steve hesitates. He doesn’t want to wake Bucky up if he doesn’t have to. His body, though, has other ideas. The tightness in his chest increases just enough to be painful barely a minute later and Steve gives up on trying to ignoring it. He’ll just apologize to Bucky later. Reaching out, he touches Bucky’s arm and gives him a gentle shake. Bucky startles awake almost immediately. He takes one look at Steve and his face darkens in concern. 

“Stevie? What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, sitting up. 

Steve doesn’t want to worry him too much so he tries for a small smile. “Sorry,” he says, his voice wheezes a little but he plays it off as nothing. “Can you find my inhaler for me real quick?” He hides a grimace when speaking makes his chest hurt even more. “Should be somewhere in this room.”

Bucky is off the bed so fast it’s almost funny. Too bad Steve doesn’t have the air to laugh at the moment. He finds the inhaler on the windowsill by the window seat and rushes back to Steve with it gripped tightly in his hand. Without being asked, he helps Steve sit up and props him against the headboard, gentle, worried. Steve takes the inhaler from him with a shaky hand and sucks down the medicine greedily. It helps. Two puffs and a handful of deep breaths later, the tightness in his chest eases enough to let him breathe easier. Bucky is hovering uncertainly, but quickly gets back into bed when Steve beckons him closer. He settles a protective arm around Steve and takes Steve’s weight onto his body. His worry is palpable in the tense lines of his face.

“I’m fine,” Steve sighs. “Just had an attack is all.” He closes his eyes momentarily. He’s really, really tired.

Bucky doesn’t quite believe him. A hand presses to his forehead and Steve can practically hear the frown in Bucky’s voice when he speaks. “You have a fever.”

“Happens,” Steve reassures him. “Sometimes I get a fever when an asthma attack builds up. I’m fine. Just a little tired is all.” For a long moment, Bucky doesn’t say anything, but Steve can feel the worry thrumming through him where he’s molded against Bucky’s side. He lets himself drift for a little bit, resting. When he opens his eyes again, he definitely feels a little better. Levering himself up into a sitting position, he pulls away from Bucky’s arm and makes to get off the bed. Bucky holds him back, face tight with concern. 

“I’m fine,” Steve insists again. He leans in to kiss Bucky on the corner of his mouth to make his point. Bucky lets him, but he doesn’t look happy. 

“Maybe you should take it easy today,” he says cautiously when Steve pulls back. 

“Buck,” Steve warns. He knows Bucky knows how he hates it when people fret over him. Just because it’s Bucky doesn’t mean he has a free pass. “I’ll take an aspirin for the fever if it doesn’t go away. Come on, let’s go get some breakfast.” He’s a little lightheaded when he gets off the bed, but it passes after a few seconds. 

Bucky doesn’t move to follow. “Steve,” he tries again. “You don’t have anything to prove.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” Steve says. “I’m fine. I’m going to go get some food now. Sorry for waking you.” He leaves the room before Bucky has a chance to say anything. Steve feels a little guilty for being so harsh, but he really is fine and he really does hate being a burden. He’s in the kitchen cutting up some fruit when Bucky joins him. Arms wrap around his waist from behind and Steve sighs when he leans into Bucky’s chest. An apology kiss is pressed to the top of his head.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. “I can’t help it. I just worry sometimes.”

Steve shakes his head and puts the knife down. Turning around in Bucky’s arms, he reaches up and puts his hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, making sure Bucky meets his eyes. “I’m the one who should be sorry,” he admits. “I know you’re just trying to look out for me.” They look at each other for a long moment before Bucky smiles softly. Steve smiles back because he can’t help it when Bucky smiles at him like that. He puts his fingers against Bucky’s lips when he leans down for a kiss. 

“Just in case I’m sick,” Steve explains. He doesn’t like admitting these things, but for Bucky he’s willing to try. “Don’t want to get you sick too.” Bucky pouts a little, but settles for brushing a kiss to Steve’s forehead instead. The heat radiating off Steve’s skin makes him pause. He tenses in concern again.

“Please don’t fight me, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, “just go sit on the couch okay? Let me finish making breakfast. Let me help.” For a second, Steve wants to resist, but he is actually feeling a little tired again. And yeah, he’d promised himself he’d try. 

“Just this once,” Steve relents and pulls out of Bucky’s arms to go do as he was asked. Bucky follows him and finds a blanket to lay over his lap. Steve can’t help it, he shoves at Bucky with a hopelessly adoring smile. “Stop it, Buck,” he gripes halfheartedly, “you don’t have to be so sweet.”

Bucky shushes him. “I do,” he insists. “Anything for my best guy, remember?” Steve rolls his eyes but snuggles into the blanket. Satisfied, Bucky goes back to the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast and Steve doesn’t stop himself from gazing fondly at his retreating back. He’s so lucky Bucky has infinite patience sometimes. He slides down a little further on the couch and leans his head against the armrest. It’s comfortable. Steve closes his eyes for a moment, just to rest until Bucky comes back. 

He ends up falling asleep for the rest of the morning.

~o~

When he wakes again, it’s afternoon and Bucky is on the phone with someone. “Mom, I’m not sure,” he says into the receiver, “I’m just a little worried.” Steve sits up slowly and squints at Bucky as he listens to whatever Winnie is saying. Bucky notices the movement and immediately tells his mom he’ll call her back later.

“Hey,” Bucky says as he comes to Steve’s side. “How are you feeling?”

Steve takes a moment to catalog the sensations in his body. “Think I’m getting sick,” he admits with a sigh. He still feels hot with fever and there’s a peculiar ache starting in his knees and elbows. “Guess I’m going to have to listen to you after all.” He tries to look put upon, but ends up just trying to look reassuring when he notices the concern on Bucky’s face.

Bucky smiles wanly at that but doesn’t wipe the worry off his face. He gestures to the tray of food on the table that Steve hadn’t noticed until now. “Try to eat something, okay? I’ll grab you an aspirin if you want.” Too tired to argue, Steve nods obligingly. He picks at the food while Bucky rummages around the medicine drawer in the kitchen for the little pills. 

“Sit with me?” Steve requests when Bucky comes back and immediately snuggles close when Bucky drops onto the couch next to him. Bucky forces him to each at least one small plate of fruit before handing over the aspirin and a glass of water. Once Steve swallows the pill, they settle into a more comfortable position, Bucky lying back on the couch with Steve draped bonelessly on top of him. He snuggles close and tucks his head under Bucky’s chin, smiling when Bucky kisses the top of his head affectionately. They both sigh at the comforting contact.

“It’s just a cold right, Stevie?” Bucky asks softly, hand carding gently through Steve’s hair. He’s still worried as hell and it makes Steve feel guilty for putting him in this situation. Absently, he tries to remember if he’d told Bucky about all his previous illness or if Bucky is just naturally this paranoid. His brain is a little too fuzzy to remember. But he’ll cut Bucky some slack regardless. This is one aspect of Steve’s life that they haven’t experienced together and because it’s his particular body, it’s something that’s bound to happen eventually. He just hopes whatever is wrong with him doesn’t scare Bucky away in the end. 

“Don’t worry so much,” Steve murmurs, drifting off again, burrowing against Bucky’s chest. It’s just on the edge of being too warm, but it’s admittedly the most comfortable he’s been all day. 

Bucky presses another kiss to the top of his head and strokes a hand soothingly up and down his back. “One of us has to, punk.” It’s the last thing Steve hears before he’s asleep again.

~o~

Natasha is there when he wakes up again. Steve blinks in confusion when he sees her face, then frowns when he realizes that he’s lying on the couch by himself. “Where’s Bucky?” he asks, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. What if Bucky’s left him for real this time? What if he doesn’t come back? God, now that he’s awake, he feels pretty awful. He feels overheated and restless. The dull ache that had been in his joints earlier has turned painful and is now tender to the touch. His chest feels tight again, too, and the air feels thick and heavy.

“He went to get his mom,” Natasha says soothingly. She brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes. “You’re pretty sick, Steve.” Though she’s not outwardly worried like Bucky had been, Steve can see the concern in the tight line of her mouth. 

He groans when he tries to shift into a more comfortable position. “I feel like crap.” 

“Do you think it’s the flu?” Natasha asks. Her voice sounds far away, and it isn’t until a cool towel is placed on his forehead that Steve realizes she’d walked away at some point to retrieve it. Steve sighs gratefully at the coolness, but it doesn’t last nearly long enough. He tries to gather his thoughts. What did Natasha ask just now?

“I’m not sure,” he mutters, his head is starting to swim again. It’s too hot. “I wouldn’t be surprised though. Get sick a lot.”

Natasha hums sympathetically as she places another towel on his forehead. “Don’t worry. It happens to the best of us.” Not like though, Steve thinks, not every single year. It’s really no wonder people hadn’t wanted him before. Him getting really sick at least once a year is a lot to deal with. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the energy to voice this out loud at the moment. Natasha takes his one of his hands between hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Rest, Steve. Stop overthinking.” His mouth twitches tiredly at that. Some things aren’t going to change. “I’ve got you.”

~o~

Bucky comes back with Winnie in tow. Steve’s really only half aware at this time. He can’t really think beyond the oppressing heat in his body and the pain shooting through his body from his joints, much less formulate any coherent sentences. Natasha is no longer in sight, and Steve tries to remember what he’d wanted to say to her. Oh, yeah. This doesn’t feel like the flu anymore.

“Stevie?” Someone’s shaking him. “Hey, hey, wake up for me yeah?” Bucky. Bucky’s here again. He’s back. He didn’t leave. Steve struggles to open his eyes, he’ll do anything Bucky asks just as long as he’ll stay. But it’s hard. His eyelids feel too heavy. He feels terrible from head to toe. Just let him rest. “Come on, Stevie, please?” The note of desperation in Bucky’s voice ignites something in Steve and gives him a spark of energy. With a gasp, he tears his eyes open and squints in the direction of Bucky’s voice. 

“Buck?”

“I’m here, baby, I’m here.” Bucky’s hands are on his face, their usual warmth now cool against Steve’s overheated skin. Steve blinks some of the fuzziness in his eyes and focuses on Bucky. He smiles bravely to soothe the frantic light in Bucky’s gray-blue eyes, pupils blown wide in the dim lighting. 

“Baby?” he whispers, using whatever will power to gather his remaining coherency into forming words.

Bucky’s thumb strokes soothingly across his cheek. “Sorry, it just slipped out.” He’s trying to put on a brave face too, Steve can tell. It’s not working that well though. Steve hopes he’s not nearly as obvious. 

“Don’t,” he breathes. His heart is thundering in his chest, every thump against his ribcage painful. And it’s too hot still. Too hot. He focuses on Bucky’s face as if latching onto a lifeline. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky is propping him up with one arm then, sitting so that Steve’s leaning against his side, and whispering apologies when Steve can’t quite contain the whimper of pain as his arms and legs are jostled. A glass is placed against his lips and he opens his mouth automatically to drink the cold water offered. It feels good, a balm against the heat consuming his body. 

“Here, Sarah says to take these,” Bucky says to him and Steve obeys without question. He opens his mouth and feels Bucky drop two more aspirin pills on his tongue. There’s more water at his lips before he gets the chance to complain about the bitter taste and he gulps it down greedily. He pants a little when it leaves him slightly breathless. Vaguely, he’s aware of another person coming to stand next to the couch.

“Steve, honey,” Winnie’s voice says from somewhere above them. 

“Yeah?” Then, “What’s wrong with me?”

“I’m not sure, honey, but I just got off the phone with Sarah. She’ll be back tomorrow. Just hang in there until she gets back, okay? Bucky and I will stay here with you tonight, don’t worry. All you have to do is rest.” 

It takes Steve entirely too long to fully comprehend her words. “Ok,” he murmurs. “'M not worried.” He’s so tired. He thinks he’ll go back to sleep now. A hand rubs soothingly on his back before he feels her leave. She says something softly to Bucky and Bucky responds, but Steve isn’t really paying enough attention to know what they’re saying. His head is starting to feel fuzzy once more. But then, it’s just him and Bucky in the living room again. It’d be nice if he didn’t feel so miserable. 

“Buck,” he says, and shifts restlessly against Bucky’s arm. Gah this sucks. 

“Yeah, baby?” Steve does like the sound of that word. He uses the last little amount of energy he has to smile again in reassurance. 

“Hold me?” Bucky stares at him, and for a moment Steve thinks he’s looks like he wants to cry. Don’t, he wants to reassure Bucky. There’s no reason to cry. He’s going to be fine. He’s been this sick before. Bucky’s moving before he gets the chance or energy to say those things, though, and Steve finds himself cradled in Bucky’s lap. It really hurts to move, but he bites off the involuntary moan of pain. Being held like this doesn’t make him feel like a child or invalid, he finds, just safe and cared for. It’s exactly what he’d wanted. He sighs contently and closes his eyes.

“I’ve got you, Stevie,” Bucky whispers. “Just don’t go anywhere, alright?” That’s strange, Steve thinks, that’s his line. Why is Bucky stealing his words?

“I won’t,” he promises, and that’s all he can manage.


	17. Chapter 17

Steve is restless all night. At some point, he wakes enough to realize that he’s in his bed and that Bucky is somewhere close. He tosses and turns despite the pain lancing through his body. He feels hot, like he’s suffocating, and not matter what he can’t get comfortable. Then, when he’s worn himself out with the movement, he’ll lay there, half awake and half asleep, panting for air as his heart beats frantically in his chest. Vaguely, he’s aware of Bucky and Winnie smoothing his hair back and rubbing his arms and legs with cool towels. They put an ice pack under his head, but all of it’s only temporary relief. When he’s barely awake, he hears himself making little sounds of distress, but can’t muster the energy to stop. And when he’s asleep, he dreams wild, horrible things fueled by the fever. He’ll later realize it’s actually just the same dream on repeat.

In the dream, there’s a baby crying, loud desperate wails too painful to sustain and to listen to, but too heartbreaking for it to not be heard and felt. Sometimes Steve is the baby and sometimes he’s next to it, just watching. They’re in a dumpster, he knows because the smell is horrible and choking and the world is only as big as the square opening high, high above them. He knows because he’s heard this story told to him before and maybe something in him remembers. The baby’s cry continues until it’s exhausted, then it only lets out occasional whimpers that make Steve want to cry too. But he doesn’t cry and he sits and waits, seeing out of his own eyes and the baby’s both simultaneously and not. He waits for someone to come rescue them. No one ever does. No one ever will. He knows this too. Everyday, they sit and wait. Every day, they are disappointed. Sometimes, people will pass by and there’ll be that moment of excitement before it disappears under the trash they toss into their bin. The pile begins to grow, threatening their little space. Eventually, Steve begins to salvage what he can from the junk and build a wall around himself and the baby. It’s temporary protection until one day, a truck rolls around and dumps all of its contents on them. Then he’s screaming and crying, trying to claw his way out only to get suffocated by the rotten things raining down from above. The baby dies first, choked to death by the stench and filth. Steve watches it go, still screaming silently on the inside. When he, too, runs out of air and his heart stops, he jerks awake briefly only to fall back into his feverdream. Then it starts again.

~o~

Sometime well into the next day, Steve wakes up half crying half screaming, and chokes on his breath. His lungs are on fire, and there’s this horrible, all consuming feeling of dread in his stomach. He doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know the faces around him. And he cries great, heaving sobs only because he’s too weak to fight, curling into a ball despite the agony that causes. There are hands on him then, and he struggles against them before realizing they’re not trying to hurt him. They hold him tight, grounding him, and soothe all over his too hot skin, over his sweat dampened hair. The tears continue to flow, but the hurt noises Steve makes in his chest abates. Eventually, he calms, but there’s still a wide, gaping chasm of despair inside him that he can’t escape and he’s falling. He squeezes his eyes shut against the pain.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” someone is whispering in his ear. “I’ve got you. We’ve got you. You’re safe.” The voice is familiar, but he can’t place it. 

It’s lying. He’s not safe. He’s falling, and no one is saving him. 

The tears start again, and Steve releases a weak sob from his tortured chest. “It’s not true,” he cries, “It’s not true. No one wants me. No one is coming to save me.”

Somewhere next to him, someone makes a sound of distress. Another voice whispers in his ear this time. “I want you,” it says, “I want you and I’m here for you. You’ll never be without a home again.” He recognizes this voice too. He stills, breath frozen in his lungs.

Then, his chest heaves on another sob. “Mom?” Straining with effort, he opens his eyes halfway to find her face hovering right above his. He’s on a bed (his bed?) and she looks worried and frazzled. It immediately makes Steve feel guilty.

“You’re here now, kiddo. You’re safe, you’re wanted. I promise you,” Steve looks at her and wants to believe what she’s saying. But she looks so troubled, so upset. How could she be telling the truth? If he’s wanted, why is she so sad? He lolls his head from side to side on the pillow. More tears fall from his eyes. It’s not real. His breath catches in his lungs again and he can’t breathe. Sarah looks away and says something to someone Steve can’t see. Suddenly, there’s something over his mouth and nose and Steve panics. He tries to pull it off but he can’t move, someone is holding him down. 

Sarah is back over him and she’s the one holding something to his face. Steve struggles against it, his lungs aching with the effort. There’s air coming out of the thing on his face but he can’t breathe! “Steve! Come on, stop fighting it. Take a breath!” Sarah commands him. He doesn’t understand why she still looks so upset. “Breathe, dammit!” Instinctively, Steve does. His vision swims at the sudden flow of oxygen into tortured lungs. 

Then another face is hovering over him, also upset. Steve recognizes him. “Bucky,” he mouths into the mask on his face. His brain pulls up vague images of the two of them together, laughing, dancing, smiling mouth to mouth. Bucky’s face contorts in fear and Steve starts crying again. Why does this always happen? Why do they always look at him like it hurts? 

It’s terrible. 

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if what Sarah said was true. Even if she wants him, even if _Bucky_ wants him, he’s hurting them by being here. He can’t have that. He doesn’t want that. He cares about them this much. It’s better if he’s not here.

Something is tugging at the back of his consciousness, dragging him down. Steve thinks it’s the despair in his heart, pulling him back. Maybe he should just go. He blinks heavily, releasing a few more tears on to his wet face. Bucky places a hand on his cheek and leans in close, mouth pressing gently to his forehead. 

“Stevie, please,” he begs. Steve doesn’t know what he’s pleading for. He stares up into Bucky’s eyes and remembers all the times he’s felt lost in their color, in their kindness and affection for him. 

“It’s okay, Bucky,” he says. He hopes Bucky can understand him through the mask. “I’m not worth it. I’m not worth your pain.” Bucky’s eyes widen in disbelief, then horror.

“What the hell are you saying?!” Bucky demands. “Stevie, stop it!” Actually, Steve’s not exactly sure what he’s saying, just that he has to make Bucky realize that he’s the one causing the look of distress on his face.

“It’s okay,” Steve repeats. He closes his eyes. The darkness in his heart is calling, and “I’m too tired anyway.” If Bucky or Sarah say anything after that, Steve doesn’t hear.

~o~

When he’s next aware, he finds himself in Bucky’s arms, a voice in his ear begging him over and over again to “just stay. Don’t go, Stevie, don’t go. I just found you. I promise you’re wanted here. I promise.” Steve wants to lift his head and kiss away all the fear in Bucky’s voice. He wants to look into his eyes and tell him that it’s okay. That he’s coming back, that he’s clawing his way out of the darkness because of Bucky, because he doesn’t want to throw away this thing that’s so beautiful between them.

He’s not strong enough to respond, but shifts infinitesimally closer to Bucky’s warmth to try and convey that he hears him. Steve hopes Bucky gets the message, hopes that it’s at least somewhat reassuring. He doesn’t like it when Bucky hurts. 

Sarah also tries to convince him to stay. “Keep fighting,” she tells him softly when it’s her turn to sit by his bedside. He’s barely conscious enough to understand her, but he hears her words loud and clear. “I know you’re stronger than this. I know how brave you are. You’re a fighter, just like Joseph was. Just like I am. I’m not going to let you go so easily.”

Steve’s chest is tight again. This time, with emotion rather than illness. He wants to wake up and tell her that he’s trying.


	18. Chapter 18

It takes three more days for Steve’s fever to break completely. Though he’d spent the first day and half of it utterly unconscious, he’s been working himself up to wakefulness with barely there moments of alertness. On the third night, he gasps awake, momentarily disoriented. It takes him a moment to take in his surroundings before he recognizes the interior of Sarah’s clinic. Ah. So he must be in one of the hospital beds then. 

Yikes. 

He tries to remember what had happened, but he only has brief bouts of sensation and snatches of conversation to go by. All he really recalls is feeling like he was burning alive and being in pain for endless, restless nights. There was a dream too, but he can’t really remember the details. A noise to his left startles him and Steve turns his head carefully to investigate. He feels a sudden rush of pure adoration and warmth when he sees Bucky lying on a cot nearby, sound asleep. He may not remember much from the past few days, but he remembers Bucky’s presence, keeping him here. It’s half of why he fought so hard to come back. The other half walks into the room not a moment later and smiles in relief when she sees him awake. 

“Welcome back, kiddo,” Sarah says. She approaches the bed and adjusts something overhead. Steve hadn’t even realized he’d been hooked up to two IVs. He looks at where they are inserted in his arm and hand, and feels a little bad for all the trouble he’s caused. “How are you feeling?”

“So much better,” he reassures. It’s the truth. The only thing amiss is that he feels as weak as a newborn kitten. He doesn’t protest when she puts a stethoscope to her ears and listens to his chest. She measures his temperature and lets out a breath of air, relieved, when she reads the numbers. Steve watches her carefully as she works and can’t help but notice the tiredness around her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

Sarah looks at him for a long time before leaning down to brush the hair from his eyes, her gaze soft and knowing. “Don’t apologize,” she says gently. “You’re not a burden. I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

“This happens all the time though,” Steve mumbles despite seeing the honesty to her words.

“Then it happens,” Sarah shrugs. “We’ll just face it together.”

He looks at the tired lines on her face again and opens his mouth to argue. She doesn’t let him. “Steve,” she says, utterly serious and Steve can’t help but pay attention at the tone, “I don’t know how to convince you that you’re wanted, that you’re here to stay for as long as you want to. I’ve tried and am trying to show you how much I care. You’re the son that a part of me has always wanted and glad to have found, even if it’s a little late in life. I promise you’ll always have a home to come back to from now on. All you have to do is believe it.” 

Steve doesn’t have anything to say for a long moment. He lies there, blinking away the tears in the back of his eyes before finally holding out his shaking arms for a hug. Sarah hugs him gently, with all the tenderness and love of a mother with her own child. And that’s what they are. “Thank you, mom,” Steve chokes out seconds later. They may not be related by blood, but she’s the only mother Steve’s ever known. Together they make up this little, unconventional family and Steve wouldn’t trade it for the word. Not ever, not anymore.

“I love you, kiddo,” Sarah says into his hair. “Thank you for not giving up the fight.”

“Love you too, mom,” Steve breathes, realizing how true it is only when the words leave his mouth. Sarah pulls back a moment later, smiling so wide it’s almost incandescent. She looks past Steve to where Bucky is still, thankfully, sleeping, and raises her eyebrows in mirth. Steve’s glad Bucky’s still asleep and had missed their little moment. 

“I’m going to keep you here for one more night okay?” Sarah says, “You may be out of the woods but you’re going to need time to recover.” 

Steve agrees easily. He’s too tired to leave this bed anyway. 

Sarah pats his arm fondly and glances at Bucky again. “Let your lover-boy rest a little longer, okay?” Steve blushes at the term. “He’s a keeper. He hasn’t left your side this whole time.” Steve turns to look at Bucky, smile on his face.

“I know,” he says wistfully.

~o~

He must fall asleep again sometime between Sarah leaving and waiting for Bucky to wake up. Daylight is streaming through the windows of the clinic when Steve blinks awake, still weak, but feeling even better than he had last night. Smiling to himself, he stretches out his limbs, careful of the IVs, and revels in the lack of pain. His muscles are sore, but that’s something he’s used to after being so sick. A quiet snort on his left turns the smile into a full on grin. The best part of waking up? This.

Bucky is smiling tentatively at him when Steve turns to look at him. They look at each other for a long moment, both thanking their respective lucky stars for giving them back this. Steve is the first to speak. “Hi, Buck,” he says, shy but so, so happy. He thinks of what Sarah had said last night and stretches out a hand toward his best friend. Bucky gets up from where he’s sitting on the cot and takes his hand carefully, approaching the bed with pure relief and gratitude on his face. Steve is the one who should be grateful though. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Steve teases gently, wanting to erase that hint of cautiousness in Bucky’s movements. Bucky pauses, breathing deliberately even through his nose as he processes Steve’s words, eyes roaming over Steve’s face. Then, when he finds whatever he’d been looking for, the barely there tension drains from his body and smiles in that way that makes Steve weak in the knees. It’s a good thing he’s lying down.

“Speak for yourself, you punk,” Bucky says, coming to Steve’s bedside. His eyes are bright with fondness. Steve grins up at him for a moment, then reaches up to grab the front of his shirt, tugging him down without further ado. Unsurprisingly, Bucky is only too willing to comply and goes without resistance. When their lips meet in a kiss, they both hum softly in quiet joy. It’s such a simple thing, Steve muses as Bucky presses closer and teases the seam of his lips with his tongue, but it feels like coming home all on its own. As always, Bucky kisses him like he has all the time in the world for Steve and then some. This time, though, there’s just a hint of a desperation in it. 

“Christ, don’t ever scare me like that again, Stevie,” Bucky pleads when they break apart to breathe. Sighing, Steve tugs on Bucky’s shirt again and scoots over in bed pointedly. Bucky takes the hint and climbs into bed next to Steve. He wraps himself around Steve protectively, pillowing an arm under his head and laying the other lightly across Steve’s stomach, holding gently to his side. “I’m serious.”

Steve takes the hand Bucky’s curved around his side and laces their fingers together. He sighs again, but shifts his head so that he can look at Bucky. They’re nose to nose and this close Steve can see the clear color of his eyes - more blue today than gray. “I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “Sorry I scared you.”

“Just don’t do it again,” Bucky sighs. Lifting up a little, Steve brushes another kiss to Bucky’s lips. He thinks about all the times he’s been sick, and knows that he can’t promise Bucky this. It wouldn’t be fair. His stomach clenches nervously when he considers his options and decides that Bucky deserves to understand fully what he’s getting into. 

“This isn’t the first time, you know,” Steve says when he pulls away. “And I highly doubt that it’ll be the last. I can’t promise that it won’t happen again.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to sigh. He gathers Steve a little closer and leans his cheek against the soft hair on the crown of Steve’s head. “I know.” His voice is sad and Steve’s heart aches to hear it.

“I understand if it’s too much to deal with,” Steve mumbles quietly. He does. Especially since there’s still that voice of doubt in his head.

“What...no!” Bucky says, aghast. “What do you take me for?” Someone I don’t deserve, Steve wants to say. Someone I’m somehow lucky enough to have. Instead he shifts again so that he can resume looking at Bucky’s face. He shakes his head, resisting the urge to smile besottedly. This is a serious conversation they’re having here.

“You’re the best guy I’ve ever known, Buck,” he admits. “I know this is still new and we’re so young still, but the way you take my breath away every day and I’m so lucky to have found you. I just want you to know that I’d understand if being with me is too much of a burden.” 

Bucky stares at him, disbelief clear in his eyes. Then he gives Steve a little shake. “You stupid little punk,” he bites out, but there’s no malice in his voice, just fond exasperation. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. You are _not_ a burden. You hear me? Don’t you dare think otherwise.” If Steve hears it enough, he’s bound to start believing in it. Bucky doesn’t wait for his response before suddenly moving in and capturing his lips in a fierce kiss. It takes him a moment, but then Steve kisses back with equal fervor. 

“And Stevie?” Bucky says, mouth not leaving Steve’s. It’s unfair that he can still form coherent sentences when Steve’s busy trying to gather his brain cells back from the little euphoric place that they’ve floated off to. “Yes, we’re young still, and yes this thing between us is still new. I know that. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m absolutely crazy for you.” 

He pauses to take Steve’s breath away again with another searing kiss, “Stay with me in the present. Don’t think about the what ifs. I’m here now, _we’re_ here now. Let’s the make the best of it. I believe we have something special.” Every statement is punctuated with a kiss to Steve’s lips. By the end, Steve is pretty sure he’s seeing stars. It’s really, really not fair. A sense of deja-vu washes over him as Bucky pulls back far enough to peer into his eyes. “Do me a favor? Don’t listen to that little voice in the back of your mind, don’t believe what it says. Believe in me instead.”

Steve blinks up at him, floating somewhere on a cloud of bliss. “When you ask like that, how am I supposed to refuse?” he demands when he can form a coherent thought. He pouts and gives Bucky his best puppy dog eyes.

“That’s the point,” Bucky grins, nipping playfully at his pout. “You can’t.” 

“You’re the worst,” Steve gripes. What he means is you’re the best, but Bucky gets him. That’s what ultimately sways him, of course. From the start, he’s felt like he’d been waiting for Bucky his whole life. First they were best friends and now they’re something more and still best friends. But labels don’t matter. What matters is that even though they’ve only known each other for half a year at this point, they just get each other. Bucky knows him. He knows Bucky. “I’ll try, Buck.” Steve acquiesces after a few moments, turning his face into Bucky’s chest with with a yawn. “Just let me take another nap first.”

Bucky chuckles adoringly and holds him close. “What, am I not entertaining enough for you?”

Steve smiles against Bucky’s shirt. “Nah, but I’m pretty fond of your ugly mug.” It’s an outdated expression, but they seem to like those. Absently, he remembers the little army tags still lying on his desk upstairs. He thinks they’ll make a good gift for Bucky someday. “Stick around for a while, okay? I don’t want to stop seeing it just yet.” He closes his eyes in bliss when Bucky rubs his hand up and down his back. 

“You bet, baby,” Bucky whispers against his hair. “I said I’d do anything for my best guy.” 

As he drifts off in Bucky’s arms, Steve thanks all his lucky stars for getting him here to this point. He hadn’t believed he would find a home, family, friends and somehow he’d found all this. What had been a humiliating mistake had somehow turned out to be the catalyst for all the good things that had followed. 

Some days, the little blond orphan boy from the back alley dumpster will look around and think maybe it was always meant to happen this way. That he’d been destined to end up here at Brookside because here is where his home is and where he’s supposed to be. Maybe he’d been nameless for so long because he was always meant to be Steven Grant Rogers, newcomer to a little town called Brookside, Sarah Rogers’ son, and Bucky Barnes’ best guy.

_~fin~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still here after all this time, thank you so much for reading sticking with the story!

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://www.nostalgia-in-starlight.tumblr.com)


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